


Sugar and Spice

by irlmagicalgirl, wasabii



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Sugar Daddy AU, fashion - Freeform, kenny is a stripper au, trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irlmagicalgirl/pseuds/irlmagicalgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasabii/pseuds/wasabii
Summary: For Crenny Big Bang: 2017.Authored by irlmagicalgirl. Illustrations by wasabii.--Craig Tucker has achieved the South Park dream: Leaving South Park.And making millions.With a world-renowned fashion empire, Craig should have no desires, and certainly no reason to ever return to South Park.Except that Craig is very lonely. And Craig needs a date. And South Park is home to plenty of no-names that Craig can transform and fly under the radar.Like Kenny McCormick.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- This fic is being posted all at once. All chapters have been uploaded in one day.  
> \- This fic is very similar to my fic Haute. It is actually a rewrite. I wanted to revamp it 3 years later, now that I have better writing skills. It has also been adapted to the South Park fandom. If, by some wild chance, you have also read Haute, don't fret. I didn't steal it. Both fics are mine, and this is simply a better version and a different fandom.  
> \- This fic was read first and illustrated by wasabii, who provided the lovely illustrations. I think they fit the vibe of the fic well, and I hope you enjoy them like I did.
> 
> \--- In this AU, not everyone was originally from South Park. South Park still exists, but some characters grew up elsewhere ---
> 
> * Written as part of the Crenny Big Bang: 2017 collaboration *

I can't say what I was least prepared for that first night back in Colorado – the bitter cold or sheer smallness of it all. It's not like I _never_ come back. I come for holidays. Sometimes. Mostly for the benefit of my sister, Ruby. You know, my parents split up so long ago, but they're still so busy going for each others' throats that I'm sure either of them actually know what I _do._ I don't know why mom didn't just move to California with me. She knows I would have taken care of her. Or maybe she doesn't know. I wasn't a particularly open kid. But Ruby's cool, and she's super into what I do, so I guess the least I can do is come back sometimes. Bring her some Gucci shit or whatever. 

I've been mainly living in Los Angeles now for...well, going on five years now, and I a got used to the warmth and city life a little too quickly. My little Colorado town just seems so foreign to me now. I know that it's “home,” but despite only having lived there a short time, I'm much quicker to call LA home now.

Beverly Hills, more specific. If I was in like, East LA, I'd probably be more used to having to side step old fast food wrappers flying around. Bad enough that I have to tip toe around the homeless sleeping on the ground. I hear it's worse in East LA. I wouldn't know – I don't make a habit of going over there. It's just...I have this thought. This _horror_ that...okay. My shoes are Valentino. Valen-fucking-tino Italian-ass shoes. They are $795. I shit you the fuck not. And, okay, so my suit is nothing to sneeze at either, but these homeless people are on the ground. And what else is on the ground? My shoes. So I have this horrible thought that these homeless are going to just snatch my shoes right off my fucking feet. I mean, if they sold the shoes, they'd be fed for a month or some shit. But the real tragedy of it is that, well, I'm sure at least the Los Angeles homeless would know what Valentino is, but I grew up with some of these damn people on the ground here, and I _know_ that they don't know Valentino from St. Valentine. They'd probably try to sell the shoes for a fucking quarter.

I swear, I'm not... _that_ much of an asshole. I give to charity. I'm proactive. Just...shit happens. Wearing what I'm wearing, I might as well have a target painted on my chest. A big neon sign that says, “hey, I'm the richest person in this town right now, come mug _me!_ ” Oh, well. I felt a good suit was required for the occasion. Just to show how serious I am, I guess.

See, this particular trip to my hometown was rather unconventional. It wasn't a holiday. It wasn't a significant date at all, actually. I couldn't even let Ruby know I was in town, which I felt pretty shitty about, but it was for everyone's own good, I guess. Honestly, I suppose I didn't _have_ to come back to South Park. I could have gone to any old podunk town that wasn't Los Angeles. I guess I was just hopeful that this would be convenient.

Soon enough, the sound of my Italian heels, as well as the sounds of the mumbling homeless, were drowned out but a vibrating bass coming from my destination: The Passion Pit. Again, probably for the best, in the end, that I chose to wear such a nice suit. I would certainly stand out, that's for sure. It's a pretty stark contrast from the Sapphire Club back home. It's so lavish, I have to wear a suit to even get _in._ So then _why_ , I'm sure you're asking, is Mr. Craig Tucker coming all the say back to South Park, to go to a shitty gay strip club, when I could just get all dressed up and go to the Sapphire Club in peace, in my personal VIP section with a glass of wine?

I guess you could say I'm undercover. And the Sapphire Club is anything but undercover. It's advertised as private, and it is in the fact that the press can't come in...but you'd better believe they sit around outside, waiting for rich, gay celebrities to walk out. No, I'm not going to tell you who else I've seen in there. But find a copy of _People._ I'm not the first _or_ last to be photographed coming out of the Sapphire Club. And frankly, I don't care. It's not like a secret that I'm gay. It's just...this one particular time that I can't be caught. And if there's any place the press (or any other sane human) _won't_ follow me, it's to the Passion Pit in South Park. I swear you've never seen a street you want to avoid more. Unless you're a gay South Park resident in need of a little action. You know, there are actually more gay residents than you'd expect from a small, redneck town. Must be something in the water.

The small area around the entrance of the Passion Pit was pretty nice at least. The music from inside was loud and clear and flashing lights turned the piece of sidewalk just outside different colors. I recognized the bouncer as one of the cashiers from the grocery store I used to go to as a kid. What a place to moonlight at. He obviously didn't recognize me though until he had to look at my ID. It just felt... _strange_ being ID'd. I never do back home, and certainly not at the Sapphire Club, but I guess I couldn't expect everyone here to recognize me, or assume my age. I have one of those faces that could be 19 years old or 30 years old. But honestly, what 19 year old can afford to dress like _this?_ You know what...don't answer that. I live across the street from Will Smith's family, and those kids...But what 19 year old in _South Park_ could afford it? None that I know.

I don't think the bouncer believed the ID at first, and I couldn't tell if it was because he remembered me from living in South Park, or because he was a fan of mine. Based on how hurriedly, but politely, he handed my ID back, I guessed at the latter. He seemed like he _really_ didn't want to offend me. Trust me, if he just knew me as an old resident, he wouldn't have given two shits about offending me.

“Oh, Mr. Tucker! So sorry to hold you up. Please, go right in. By the way, _love_ the new line of shirts. I'd buy them all if I could!”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I said, kind of surprised. I only hoped he didn't tip people off about my appearance there. He seemed trustworthy enough, but you can never be too sure in South Park.

I turned and entered the club, and instantly I was overwhelmed. It had an actual  _club_  feel. The Sapphire Club, despite its name, is more like a high class lounge. It's actually pretty classy for a straight up strip club. The Passion Pit easily could have doubled as a rave venue.

            I could feel my heart beating nearly in sync with the steadily pounding music. If there were words to it, I could not pick them out. Everything was bathed in a rainbow of lights, and a swirling sort of fog was drifting through the air, only visible when the light shone through it. Clusters of men were up dancing with each other, and others had private tables where strippers provided them with personal shows. I tried my damnedest not to focus on any one of the patrons' faces too closely – chances were that I would know _all_ of them, and I didn't need to see them any more than I didn't want them to see me. The main stage was vacated, but according to the flyer I had ripped off a street light, headline shows started every half hour to forty-five minutes. I checked my Rolex - 11:20. Shrugging, I took a seat at an empty table close to the front and center of the stage. No one was sitting there as the show had not yet started, but I saw no harm in getting a seat early. After all, if anyone was going to be worth my time here, it was going to be one of the headliners.

            A scantily clad, but fairly muscular man approached my table. Thankfully, I didn't recognize him. Kind of a miracle in such a small town. He didn't seem to recognize me, either as Craig the South Park Ex-Resident, or Famous Craig, and it was all the better. He had cat ears on his head, as well as a long tail hanging from his black briefs, and a black choker. It was then that I noticed that all the servers had on animal accessories - from where I was sitting, I spotted a bunny and a dog as well.

            "May I offer you something to drink, sir?" my cat-server asked me. He had bright green irises, and I made a mental note that, if I couldn't find anyone better, I might have to extend my offer to him instead. He was pretty easy on the eyes.

            Were I at the Sapphire Club, I wouldn't have even been asked. My regular bottle of wine would have been brought to my table the moment I was seen walking through the door. But this was not Sapphire, and I knew that this place wouldn't even have my wine available. I shrugged a shoulder. "Gin and tonic," I requested. I held off on winking, or any other creepy trope frequenters of this place might be accustomed to. Like I said, I had to let them know I was high-class. I meant business. Cat-boy nodded as he jotted down my order on the notepad that had previously been tucked in edge of his briefs.

            "Be right back with that," he assured me, and turned back towards the bar. I watched his tail swing and his hips swayed. I wasn't going to act like too much of a sleaze ball – I mean this was supposed to be purely professional, what I was doing here - but there was nothing wrong with getting an eyeful, right? I mean, a strip club is still a fucking strip club, business aside.

            I could see more and more men getting off the dance floor and taking their seats. The music was lowering to a gentle thrum and the lights got softer, but entertainers on the side tables were still working it. 11:25. My drink was going to get to my table just in time for the main show. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping the headliner was good. I had a lot of reputation riding on this guy. Potentially.

            Cat-boy returned with my gin and lingered casually beside my chair. "Can I offer you anything else, sir?" he asked. I declined, but he didn't leave.

           He leaned down so that his lips brushed against my ear. "I was told to be at your side if you need anything," he let me know at a low, husky whisper. So the bouncer  _did_  talk. Somebody had told somebody to make me a satisfied customer. I wasn't complaining. Made my time easier. As long as it just stayed in these four walls. "You can call me Roger," he told me.

            "Thank you, Roger," I replied to my cat-boy. "I'll let you know if I need anything else." I took a swig of the gin and was pleasantly surprised at the quality.

            "You've never been to the Passion Pit, have you, Mr. Tucker?" Right. So he had definitely been told who I was.

            "I haven't. I'm...not in town much.”

            Luckily for me, Roger didn't question my sudden out of the ordinary visit. He was especially calm for someone serving a celebrity in a small town, shady location. He _had_ to know I was from here. We had never met, but word gets around stupid fast around here. He probably already knew my fucking blood type and mother's maiden name. "Then you're in for a treat. Tonight's show is fantastic. You won't be disappointed."

            So that was promising. Before I could inquire further, however, 11:30 rolled around. Everyone was now seated, except for the servers, and all the lights save for the ones pointed at the stage went down. A deep voice rumbled over an unseen loudspeaker.

            "Gentlemen - the moment you've been waiting for all night. Please turn your attention to the main stage for our very own... _Angel Boy_ _!_ "

           Uncommon name. Certainly not something I expected of a gay stripper, but angels were nice. I suppose I wore an expression of judgment, albeit unintentionally,because Roger nudged me and mouthed something out -  _trust me._

             _Na na na na na, come on. Na na na, come on, come on, come on._

The "Angel Boy" emerged from behind the black velvet curtain at the back of the stage. I could tell he was barefoot, wearing black pants and a black buttoned up vest, but the bright glare from the lights made his face and hair hard to take in.

            He took a few steps to the music with an undeniable swagger to the front of stage where I could better see him. I realized that he wore a black tie under the vest as well, but no shirt.

I also realized...that I knew him. I suppose the chances of that were pretty high. It was miraculous enough that Roger and I had never met. Angel Boy was none other than Kenny McCormick. We had gone to school together, and despite the fact that we were never really friends, or spoke at all, it was impossible not to know who he was. He was just as famous for being poor and having a bad family as I'm famous for my own work. That was that. He was poor, his parents were drug addicts, he was a little edgy, and a bit of a loner.

            And he was gorgeous. I mean, I can't remember if he had been good looking in school or not, because he always his his face behind shaggy hair and oversized hoodies, but if he had been unattractive before, puberty had given him the jackpot. Maybe to make up for the shitty hand he had been dealt in birth.His blonde hair still fell in his eyes, though much more seductively, and from the tone in his arms alone, I could tell that his body was fantastic. I mean, he pole danced for a living, so why wouldn't it be? The way the light hit his eyes made them look like ice and made him even more devilish. I wondered if his _angel boy_ title was all irony. I couldn't spot any tattoos, but between his two ears, he had about five visible piercings. I mentally apologized to Roger. So far, Kenny had him beat. Never whom I would have expected, but I suppose it couldn't have been more perfect.

             _Love is great, love is fine. Out of box, out of line. The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more_.

            He smoothly curved his body back, perfectly in time to the music, and lowered himself to his knees. With his legs tucked beneath him and his head thrown back, he started to unbutton the vest. A few whistles were thrown out from the crowd, and my grin returned involuntarily to my lips. Gyrating slightly, he rose back up, hips first, and threw the vest off entirely at the start of the chorus.

             _'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it, sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it, sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me._

            Now that he was closer, I realized his lip was pierced as well. The ring was so thin and subtle that I hadn't noticed until the light glinted off it off of it, and he bit at it seductively. Now that the vest was off, I could also see that there was a little black rose tattooed exactly where his right hip bone started to plunge past the seam of his pants. He twirled slowly in the direction of the pole center stage, jumped slightly and grabbed it with both hands. Continuing to hold himself up with his right hand, he skillfully removed his tie with his left in two swift movements. He held it in his mouth as twirled himself down the length of the pole, tossing his head back.

             _I love the feeling you bring to me, oh you turn me on. It's exactly what I've been yearning for, give it to me strong._

            Reaching the bottom of the pole, he touched down with knees, and slid himself away from it. He got on all floors and rolled his hips as crumpled dollar bills were thrown up on stage. Not missing a beat in the music, he continued to roll as he stuffed the bills in the waistline of his pants. He reached the very edge of the stage and scanned the audience. Meeting my eyes, as I was front and center, he gave me a wink, and I raised my glass of gin to him in a salute. I guess I had my winner.

             _S, S, S, S, and M, M. S, S, S, S, and M, M._

           "Told you so," Roger whispered in my ear from behind me. I had almost forgotten about Cat-Boy. I felt bad, honestly, but I had not expected such a fantastic headliner.

            The Angel Boy – Kenny – finished the song with copious amounts of hip rolling (which was great, since he was so good at it). He returned to the pole now and again, and with the vest off completely, I was able to appreciate the way his muscles flexed with each movement he made. It was obvious that he chose moves that would force his abs to clench and the veins in his forearms to become more defined. I was fine with that. I have a thing for forearms. Still, throughout the song, he never removed the pants, which told me that, in time, he would be returning for second song and would take care of them then.

            Men got up from their seats and shuffled around, some leaving, having been satisfied with that show alone. Others rose to get drink refills. I realized that I must have been the one and only VIP there that night, if I could call myself that, because I was the only one with a consistently hovering animal server.

            "Do you desire anything else before the next show, Mr. Tucker?" Roger asked me, right on queue. The gin in my hand was only half finished, but I was glad he asked anyway.

            "Yes, actually. Could you please go ask the performer if I could get a private lap dance?" I knew the question wouldn't faze him. When I walked in, I had seen side performers giving personal dances in the corners of the room. Still, Roger raised an eyebrow.

            "Before the next show? Sir, the dance wouldn't be long - he would have to leave early to get back on stage. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to wait until after all of the performances?"

             _The sooner, the better,_  I thought to myself. I couldn't chance anyone else requesting him before me. I smiled lightly at Roger and retrieved my wallet. Digging out a fifty, I handing it to him. "It's fine. Please, now would be perfect. You don't need to tell him who I am, either. I can introduce myself."

            With wide eyes, Roger accepted the bill and slipped it in between the pages of his notepad. "Right away, sir. I'll send him to you right away, if you go over to that roped off corner in the back."

            I turned to where he had indicated and saw that there actually was a roped off area in the back, near the top right corner of the main stage. It was vacated and furnished with a rounded red velvet couch. I wondered for a moment in passing if I would have to pay extra to sit back here, or if it was infinitely reserved for VIPs. I showed myself in and made myself comfortable, waiting patiently for my company. My heart skipped a single beat, my only concern being the chance that the Kenny would decline my offer. I should have sent an extra fifty with Roger.

            Soon enough, Kenny emerged from a nearby door which I could only assume led to dressing rooms, and ducked under the rope. In the dimmed light, I could see that his arms shone with a light layer of sweat. Perfect.

            A single snicker caught in his throat. "So you're the rich bastard who bought me out for the, what, ten minutes in between shows?" I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. Probably a bit of both.

            “Kenny McCormick,” I said as a statement with a smirk.

            He narrowed his eyes. I don't think he recognized me, but he didn't seem surprised that I knew _his_ name. Maybe I'm not the first old classmate to come in here. “It's Angel. In here.”

“Alright, fair enough,” I said, smirking. After all, it was _him_ I needed a favor from. The least I could do was comply for the time being.

“And does my client have a name? Or do you prefer we stick with  _rich bastard_? Because I could keep that up, too," he continued, teasing at the waist of his pants. I liked how he maintained his snarky personality, despite knowing I was a wealthy patron. It told me that he was genuine. I didn't expect anything less from the Kenny I used to know. 

            The corner of my mouth twitched. "Craig Tucker."

            He huffed out through his nose. "Right, right. I got a cousin called Ralph Lauren. Good job though, picking the _one_ famous asshole to come out of South Park. Did your research."

            So he really didn't recognize me. When I had no reply but a smile, his eyebrows rose high, and he licked once at the lip ring. I bet he didn't even notice how often he did that, but it was unfair how sexy it was.

            "No shit, really? Craig Tucker. Damn, I haven't seen you in...what? Ten years or some shit? You grew up good. Well, Mr. Tucker, hold on to your designer socks, because I'm about to knock them off."

           I had to fight to not roll my eyes at the line, but he made up for it with his body, as I expected him to. I was glad he went for the stripper business instead of his parents' heroin business. He was born for it as much as anyone could have been. As the music picked up a bit more, he turned and got on my lap. He ground his ass down and along my thigh, and I didn't bother trying to disguise my excitement. After all, if I couldn't have a boner in strip club, where  _could_  I? I hoped I was giving Kenny the proper amount of  satisfaction that came with pleasing a VIP. He didn't work at a place as swanky as the Sapphire Club, so I bet that the opportunity didn't arise often. 

            I have to admit that the man in my lap nearly made me forget the reason I came into the club and requested him in the first place, so before he had to leave me and go back and do his second song, I brought up my intentions.

            I whispered in his ear as he continued to rock his hips in my lap. "Hey, I have a proposition for you."

            "Hm?" he replied. His hand slid up the side of my thigh, and I was silently thankful that he was unaware of the goosebumps rising across my body. He stayed in my lap as I spoke to him, and were I not speaking to him, I'm sure he would have switched positions. I almost wished that he would have stopped rocking so I could concentrate on my words.

            "New York Fashion Week is coming up. Besides the actual runway shows I'm expected to appear at, there are countless social events, and I kind of have a reputation to uphold..."

            "Uh-huh..."

            "Well, being successful and having a good social life does not necessarily go hand in hand. I need to appear...well-rounded. The tabloids are getting...a little suspicious. And invasive. It's not enough to have a good showing, fashion wise. Which is where you come in."

            "...Okay."

            “I'm looking for someone I can hire as...an  _escort_ , more or less to be by my side at all events in New York next week. And, lucky you. You caught my eye."

            Kenny stood up and did a seductive turn until he was facing me, and was back to shaking his hips. I was sure his boss or someone was watching and he had to make it look as though he were changing it up a little.

            He scoffed at me. "With all due respect, Mr. Tucker, I can't afford to wear your pocket squares, let alone wear  _you_."

           It was extremely amusing to me that he called me _Mister_ when, if I remembered correctly, he was several months older than me. I couldn't help but smile at that, but I shrugged nonetheless. "That's fine, because I'll be the one paying  _you_."

            Kenny ran his hands down his chest, past his abs, and slid his fingers across his hip bones, where his fingertips brushed lightly against his black rose. I can't imagine I looked especially professional and business-like as I watched his hands trail across his body, but he was making it pretty hard on me. Then again, I was in a strip club asking the headliner to be my hired escort. My professionalism was only going to go so far, I suppose.

            "Mr. Tucker, I appreciate your whole...thing, but what the fuck kind of man do you think I am, that I can just be rented out? I'm a stripper, not a hooker. I  _do_  have standards, you know."

            "I'm offering you three grand. As a down payment."

            His eyes widened as he processed my offer. He even stopped moving to the music for a moment. As he regained himself, he put his hands on my shoulders and slid himself forward onto my lap, creating friction between our thighs. I bit my lip gently to hold back a groan. He pulled me towards him, and his lips brushed at my earlobe and he whispered softly.

            "In that case, Mr. Tucker, I'm all yours."

 

 


	2. 2

               Upon leaving the Passion Pit, I had to admit to myself that I never expected everything to go so smoothly. I wasn’t mobbed – or hardly recognized at all, which was remarkable, given the fact that I grew up in South Park. It was kind of nice that I did _know_ the man I hired. I wouldn’t say I was every Kenny’s best friend, or friend at all for that matter, but I watched him go through puberty, and you know, I think that counts for something. Best of all, though, was the convenience. Now that he had three grand, Kenny didn’t have a problem taking a week off work. He had no family that he was responsible for, and really had the most flexible schedule that could have been hoped for. So asking him to meet me at six am the next morning went (mostly) without a hitch. He was at first annoyed at missing sleep, but since he worked until four in the morning, he figured he could just kill two more hours. I assured him he’d have _plenty_ of time to sleep soon, but I don’t think he was entirely convinced. Still, in the end, he agreed to meet at the edge of Stark’s Pond at the crack of dawn.

               I found him on the street corner, just before sidewalk stopped and nature started. This early in the morning, no one was around, but even if it had been crowded, Kenny would not have been hard to miss at all. He was wearing what I can only describe as Daisy Dukes and a loose white tank top with a very 90's graphic of a palm tree on a neon background. He had on a beat up pair of Doc Martens and sunglasses. The way he leaned against the street post caused his calf muscles to flex and he chewed absent-mindedly at his lip ring. I wanted to take a picture of him, leaning up so casually under the sign. It was somehow so editorial, dressed in the California Cool style in that some designers would sell for hundreds – in the middle of Colorado, no less – when I could be sure that he probably picked up his whole outfit at a thrift shop. I wondered if he would notice me using him for inspiration in my summer line. Again, couldn’t have gotten luckier with my pick.

                 I pulled up to the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other rolling down the black passenger window.

            "You coming?" I called out to him. "Come on, so we can make it look as little like I'm picking up a hooker as possible."

            He tilted his glasses down his nose and came over to lean into my window.

            "But isn't that what you're doing, Mr. Tucker?" he teased.

            "I'm trying to be subtle, thank you! And you can call me Craig, you know. I think we've reached that point. We only graduated together."

            Kenny leaned back and surveyed the car, holding his glasses up over his eyes. "An  _Aston Martin_  is what you went for to be subtle?"

            "Just get in, would you? This is what I rent when I come back to Colorado. Just be glad it wasn’t the Lamborghini back home."

                "Only rule of the car is no smoking. If you need to do it, wait until we're outside," I told him. I really wasn't too bothered over things like my rare passengers' choices in music, or eating in the car, but smoke was a no-go. The smell was impossible to remove. I guess I kind of owe luxury cars for getting me to quit.

            "I don't smoke."

            I side-glanced at him as we rolled up to a stop sign.

            "No kidding?"

            "Nope. No smoking, no drugs. I told you - I'm a stripper, but it's just my living. I have standards, remember?"

            I shrugged. "Yeah, but people have different definitions of what standards are. Alright then, no smoking." Honestly, I have to say I was kind of shocked. I thought for _sure_ the Kenny I knew in high school smoked. Might as well have been another lifetime.

            "Yeah...besides, this body and my stamina has to last me a long time."

            I half smiled, and I couldn't help but wonder if his stamina helped him in places…other than the stage. Yeah, yeah, I know. Can’t help the thoughts, what can I say? But if I had _really_ wanted to restrain myself, I would have just found an ugly stripper. Or none at all. I can’t say the whole set-up wasn’t a treat for myself as much as for the press.

"So, where are we going again?" Kenny asked. He folded up his sunglasses and hung them from the collar of his tank, the sun out of our way now that we were headed East. They tugged the fabric of his collar down just far enough that I could see the start of his pecs. Motherfucker, I was in trouble.

I looked at him, confused. Had he really already forgotten where we were going? Were the nights really so hard on him?

               “Um, Denver?”

               “I thought your fashion thing was in New York, or LA or whatever?”

               I laughed out loud. “Well, New York and LA are in totally opposite sides of the country. But yes, we are going to LA first, because that is where I live, and then we are going to New York.”

               “So, we’re headed to Denver…why?”

               I laughed softly. “Because that’s where the airport is, Kenny.”

               “Oh.”

               I honestly think he believed we were going to drive all the way to Los Angeles. So given the fact that I was driving North to Denver, I’m sure he had gotten confused. And based on the fact that Kenny probably has not traveled farther than, I don’t know, fucking _past_ Stark’s Pond, I can’t imagine that his concept of distance is all too great. Can’t imagine.

               “I’ve never flown before,” he said, now biting at his lip ring with a nervous vigor.

               Can’t say I was surprised.

               “It’ll be fine. Not a long trip. Like…a little more than two hours. Just watch a movie and it’ll be over in no time.”

               “A movie?”

               I laughed again. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”

               He was quiet for a minute before talking again.

               “And…where exactly are we going when we get to LA?”

               I raised an eyebrow without taking my eyes off the road. He made that hard for me to do.

               “Well…all over. But first, Rodeo Drive, probably. And to my home.”

               “Haha, what is this? _Pretty Woman?_ ”

               “Are you complaining?” I asked, eyebrow still cocked.

               “Am I gunna get new stuff?”    

               “Well…yeah.”

               “Then no, I’m not complaining.”

               I smiled to myself as I shifted gears, heading out of town on the road to Denver. My engine thrummed as we made it out of what can only be described as civilization (not that I especially see South Park that way any more), and in my peripheral vision, I saw Kenny’s long fingers curl tightly around the edge of the matte black leather seat. We weren’t going quite as fast as the car made it seem like we were going, but there definitely was an adrenaline rush. I enjoyed peoples’ first reactions to the cars that I made a habit of driving – a perk of fame that balanced out one of the many cons. For as much as I hate being in the spotlight sometimes, I love driving (in luxury) just as much. I imagine Kenny would have pissed himself had we been in the Lambo, and while I wished I had it if only for his reaction alone, I was already doing a piss poor job of staying under the radar.

               I turned to look at Kenny as often as I could without taking my eyes too far off the road, looking him up and down a few times. I can’t say I really kept myself from seeming too obvious.

               “What? Is my hotness too much for you?” he asked. He was starting to relax, getting used to the speed of such a finely tuned machine, and now rested his head back, enjoying the ride. I could only imagine his reaction to airplane take off.

               _Yes_ , I thought to myself. “No. I was just thinking…I mean, _you_ could have been a little more subtle, too. Heading to the airport. Maybe back _there_ , a three-hundred-thousand dollar car picking up a guy like you on the street corner wouldn’t have been too suspicious. The car is what would have stood out. But we’re going to an large international airport to sit in first-class. I’m going to be the one blending in everywhere else we go. Not to mention, we’re going directly to Rodeo from the plane...one of the most famous, high-class shopping streets in the _world_ …”

               Kenny whipped his head around to me, already no longer relaxed.

               “What do you mean, _a guy like me_? What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean, Craig?”

               Oh, motherfucker, here comes the first name basis. Not sure I was as ready for it as I thought I would be.

               “Is that really all you got from what I said? You know what I meant.”

               Okay, maybe a little insensitive, but I _was_ paying him for this.

               “Nevermind,” he shrugged. I expected him to be more annoyed – offended, even, but it rolled off of him pretty quickly. “Besides, I couldn’t have been more subtle or whatever even if I wanted to. I don’t have any clothes _remotely_ nice enough to blend in with this fucking car, or first class anything, or Rodeo.” He pronounced it like the cowboy event, rather than like Ro- _day_ -oh. It was kind of charming. “Isn’t that why you’re taking me there anyway? Because I have a piece of shit wardrobe? Maybe I’ll at least blend in with some California college douches.”

               I nodded, accepting defeat. He had a point – even though it still might be out of the ordinary for a college douche to be hanging out with me. Oh well. I was mostly concerned with how he might be treated on Rodeo as long as he actually _looked_ like someone I picked up on a street corner. I mean, the _Pretty Woman_ resemblance had already been established. Didn’t mean I was in the mood to do an exact recreation. _Personally_ , I was just fine getting to check out his thighs and shop at the same time, but…he didn’t need to know that.

            After a few minutes of silence, I gestured to the stereo. "Put it on whatever you want," I offered to him, and he obliged immediately. Something about that reminded me of our first meeting, when he offered to continue calling me  _rich bastard_. He didn't pussyfoot around me just because of my money and name. I couldn't count on my fingers the number of passengers I had had that felt too uncomfortable to take control of my car stereo. The offer had since become of a test of character, and Kenny was passing. Then again, there was a chance he still saw me as the quiet, artistic asshole in his graduating class. Mostly, though, I just think he _really_ didn’t give two shits about status. Easy to do when you don’t have one…I’m sorry, that was a dick thing to say. It’s true, though.

               He stopped the radio station on some generic Top 40’s count down. Not a bad choice – hid his own music taste and avoided displeasing me by putting on some digitally computed bullshit designed to be so catchy and good at getting stuck in your head that you _have_ to like it, no matter how shitty it was, just to keep from going insane. Well played, McCormick.

               Unless, of course, his favorite kind of music _was_ Top 40’s bullshit. Whatever. I don’t judge.

             _And it goes like this, take me by the tongue and I'll know you, kiss me 'til you're drunk, and I'll show you..._

            He threw his head back and let out a loud laugh.

            "What, is this song funny now?" I asked, tapping my fingers in time on the steering wheel. I had always liked it, kind of. It was a good "dance during that too rare moment when you're home alone" song.

               …No. I don’t dance. It’s just that kind of song.

             _All the moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger, I've got the moves like Jagger._

            He let out a final chuckle before explaining. "No, no, this is the song I danced to for the past two weeks, before the  _S &M_ routine. I can't hear it the same way anymore." He reached to changed to a different station, but I swatted his hand away.

            "Nope. Now we definitely need to listen to it."

            He pouted, but retreated back without protest. It didn't take long for his laughing smile to return. Really, I was just trying to envision the dance I had seen him do matched to Adam Levine's voice. Unfortunately, I was having a hard time.

            "This seems a little..."

            "Lame, I think, is the word you're looking for there," he interrupted.

            "No, no, it isn't  _that_  bad. It just sounds like a song that was written  _trying_  to be a stripper song, but it turned out all poppy like this, and now it'll never be taken seriously as something really sexy."

            He bit at his lip. I was learning that this was his thinking habit. "...Yeah, that's about right. My boss picked it out, though. I did what I could with it.”

               “Who’s your boss? Mr. Garrison?” I teased, knowing our old teacher was just the time to pick such a song. The fucker followed us from elementary school to high school. It was one joke I could make about our shared home town that I knew he would get, despite us growing up in separate circles.

               He paused for a while before replying. “Yes, actually. He _is_ my boss.” After saying that with a straight face, he couldn’t stop himself from cracking up. “I'd like to think that I salvaged it a bit, but honestly, I'm glad you chose this week to come. _I_ chose to do  _S &M_. I mean, it's got a similar thing going for it, but you have to admit it does  _sound_  sexier." 

            I had to agree there. "Yeah, I never really thought  _sexy_  would be the first word I would use to describe Mick Jagger...I mean....yeah, no. I didn't even realize he had  _moves_  that could be sung about."

            He tossed his hands up. "Exactly! Thank you. Garrison did  _not_  get that. He kept saying that no one was going to be focusing on the words, but come on. Everyone knows this song. It was driving me crazy."

            I chuckled, understanding how the song would be ruined for Kenny forever, although I was secretly hoping I would hear it more often from that moment on. Now that I had already seen the goods in motion, it would be like having a private show playing in my head every time one of his songs played.

               I would have allowed him to change the song at that point, but we were already rolling into Denver, and he seemed to be the type of person that thought music affected your eyesight; he lowered the volume to take in the city.

               “Don’t get into Denver much?” I asked.

               “Came to Casa Bonita once…as a kid. Only ever came with friends, but…nah, haven’t had the chance recently. Appreciate it a little more now, I guess.”

               I laughed softly. “LA is going to blow your mind, then. New York, even more so.”

               We made it to the airport in radio-silence, and Kenny remained fairly quiet as well, pretty speechless I suppose. I parked the car in the appropriate lot, no longer worried about it sticking out like a sore thumb. There were at least three more expensive cars in the vicinity.

               Getting out of the car, I couldn’t help looking around to see who would be witnessing Kenny and his booty shorts getting out of my car. I couldn’t really imagine what image we were conveying. Two college age girls strolled by, but they seemed more focused on Kenny’s legs than the fact that he did not match the car he was leaning on, or its driver. Maybe they’d think he was some pop star and that I was his body guard or something. Who the hell knows. It wouldn’t have made sense to _me_ if I had seen a similar pair driving up. I wished I could just whip something out of my luggage for him to wear but nothing I had would have fit him anyway.

               The funny thing was that I felt that I was more casual now than the night before at the club. It wasn’t a full suit and tie – just black pants and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Lacoste. Nothing…crazy. But even without the name brand, the difference between Kenny and I was drastic. Even down to his piercing and hair style. I realized, as we walked into the airport, that I was doing a terrible job of… _not_ looking like a sugar daddy. I guess that was going to be inevitable, and Kenny was going to have to hang on to me in order not to get hopelessly lost in the airport. I already had a three thousand dollar check for him written out in my suitcase, and the down payment wasn’t including everything I was buying him at Rodeo, airfare, meals, and anything else that was bound to come up. I guess I knew, going into this, that there was always going to be that chance of exuding that sugar daddy aura. I just didn’t think it was going to be so obvious so fast.

               Fuck it.

               The great part about having “artist fame,” as we call it, is that you aren’t really recognizable by people who aren’t intimately familiar with your work. Unless you have a face like Donatella Versace, I guess.

               Um, I don’t. By the way. Aside from the small gap between my incisors and front teeth, and the little scar in my left eyebrow, I’d say I look like your average…good looking guy. Besides, Jesus Christ, with Kenny next to me, _no one_ is going to remember seeing me. I look like every other young and fairly attractive business-man-with-money running in and out of here.

It was Rodeo that worried me a _little_ more, but that far from Colorado, no one was going to recognize him as a stripper. Which partly why I travelled so far. I’m _pretty_ sure some of my LA playmates have gone to Hollywood strip clubs. I needed small-town-nobody…with an ass that just won’t quit. I could play him off as a boyfriend, maybe even an intern or employee, that I just felt like spoiling. I mean, he was hired to be my “boyfriend” anyway, so I guess it was just reverse occupational hazard that he looked like my sugar baby on the first day instead of my equally rich and suave boyfriend. It was a work in process I should have seen coming. Still, I wondered if it would have killed him to at least wear pants. If I had not been with him, I was sure that there would be some stores that would refuse him service.

Getting on the plane, _shockingly,_ went without a hitch. Miracle. The fact that Kenny didn’t get a _full_ fucking body check was remarkable. They made him take out his piercing, but other than that, there wasn’t a problem in the world. Probably had to do with the fact that he looked like a curious child in wonder, as much as his attire allowed. He looked this way and that, as if airports were an entirely foreign concept to him. I guess they were.

               “Well, this is first class,” I said, once we were seated. I tried to sound even toned, but in reality, first class still impresses _me_ , and it’s the only way I’ve flown for a few years now. For a flight under three hours, the seats didn’t have to be _too_ extravagant. It wasn’t like we were going to need a full night of sleep. But still, they were luxury.

               “We…get a tv?” he asked softly.

               “Yeah,” I laughed. “There will be movies on it once we take off, after the safety video.”

               “It’s nicer than my family tv,” he said with a mixture of awe and embarrassment.

               He put on the headphones and chose to watch _Deadpool_ , content as can be. When we were brought wine, he sipped his slowly, savoring it like he’d never get such a wonderful glass again – that is, until I told him that they were complimentary, and he was on his second glass almost immediately.

               The flight was shorter than he had been expecting, and I think he was actually a little disappointed to get off the plane.

               “I never get to watch new movies,” he said. “I was trying to make up for lost time.”

               “Last time I flew to London, I watched three movies, had two meals, and a full night of sleep. Don’t worry, though, you can watch movies all you want in our hotel room.”

               He seemed satisfied with that as we got off the plane and made our way to baggage claim.

               “Hey, Kenny. Every been in a limo before?”

               “Nope.”

               I smirked. “Come on, then.”

               I led him to a man holding a sign with my last name on it.

               “Mr. Kim,” I nodded.

               “Mr. Tucker! Your trip was okay?”

               “It was perfect. Hey, this is Mr. McCormick. Treat him as if he were me.”

               Mr. Kim, my long time chauffer, looked him up and down, not sure what to think.

               “You know I pay you well,” I reminded him. We were friends, after this time, sure, but the bastard would sell my gossip for a chicken if it was handsome enough.

               “Of course, yes, come on, limo waiting,” he said, pocketing the fifty I slipped him.

               Watching Kenny take in Los Angeles, California was the highlight so far. Of course, he was impressed with the plane and all, but he had never flown before. For all he knew, that’s what it was like for everyone. He _had_ seen a city and… _land_ before, and Colorado could not compare to California. They might as well have been on different planets, and his head was glued to the window like an awed puppy dog.

               No one looked twice at the limo pulling up to Rodeo, and the reactions from people on the street were actually less judgmental than those at the airport. This close to Hollywood, we probably didn’t even make the top 10 in most interesting celebrity sightings, most interesting pairs, or…most interesting anything. Which was perfect. We did still have college girls checking out Kenny’s legs, though. For all I cared, the could have been the same ones from Denver.

               I waved at Mr. Kim to go find a better parking place and started to make my way up the street. Kenny caught up to follow me with a sort of stride that suggested that he had shopped here a million times, cool as could be, but I could tell he was excited.

            "Alright, where to..." I muttered to myself, contemplating which store would be a good first choice. I could almost feel Kenny ogling down the street from behind me. "C'mon, we'll go to Valentino first."

            "Where?" Kenny asked. Not because he hadn't heard me. He just had no idea what I was talking about. I smiled in reply, saying nothing. The store would speak for itself. In the high-fashion world of the glitterati,  _everyone_  knew Valentino. But I couldn’t be surprised that Kenny didn't know what the hell I was talking about. He would know Calvin Klein. He would know Ralph Lauren. Those were big names, and famous, but common. Valentino was too high to be common. He would become acquainted soon enough.

            "Here we are," I said, gesturing to the Valentino store front. I heard him mutter something along the lines of "God  _damn_ " as he eyed the window displays, but he walked in as I held the door open for him anyway.

            I had expected the employees to turn him away, but they did something almost worse - they ignored him completely. To them, this less-than-high-middle-class guy in frayed denim wasn't even worth the time it took to tell him that he couldn't afford anything. They looked up when he entered and looked immediately away, before catching a glimpse of me. It was a mistake, but I forgave them. I suppose it was my fault for letting him walk in before me.

            Even after I followed in behind and let the glass doors shut behind me, the workers didn't look up, and they fiddled with racks that didn't need attending to, just to avoid Kenny, and who they probably assumed was his equally trashy friend - me. I mean, not that  _I'm_  calling him trashy. As I already mentioned, I was perfectly happy with the eyeful of toned muscle I was being treated with, and I can’t forget my roots. I knew what I was doing, going back to South Park. But to these snobby bitches, he wasn’t worth the dirty asphalt just outside the door.

            Done with waiting for them to look about again and realize who they were snubbing, I cleared my throat, loudly, in a way that said "if you value your jobs, and your damn life, you will notice me right the fuck now." And they did.

            "Oh! Sir! Sorry, did not see you there. May we help you?" one young girl asked. Too young. Too inexperienced. Experienced enough to tell that Kenny wasn't worth marketing to on his own, and experienced enough to be able to tell that I had potential to be a paying customer, but too inexperienced to recognize me by my face alone. That was fine. It was my tag and name that told people who I was.

            "Yes, I'd like to see Amalia, please," I requested, asking for the owner of the branch by name. I knew she was normally there on Fridays. "You can tell her that Craig Tucker is here to see her."

            The color drained completely from the two workers' faces. "R-right away, sir," the first girl answered, and she scurried away, as fast as her heels and pencil skirt would allow her to move, with the second girl right behind her. Retrieving Amalia was by no means a two person job, but there was no way in hell that second girl was going to stand around after having just blown off Craig Tucker - and if I were to considered a celebrity on any street, it would be this one. She wasn't going to risk getting chewed out by a designer, either, being the lowest she could possibly be in the industry. I mean, I never would have yelled at her. Just flipped her off, maybe. But she didn't know that. Maybe my eyes intimidated her. I know for sure it wasn't Mr. Lip Ring over here, gaping over price tags. I heard him sputter.

            "What?" I asked. He was holding a camouflage cashmere sweater. Of course. The camo was a hit in Valentino's newest line. Men's version of shabby chic, I suppose.

            "It's eleven hundred dollars!" he choked out. He stroked the soft sleeve.

            "Yeah, it's cashmere. You want it? Everyone will know who you're wearing. Valentino's camouflage this season was kind of a big deal. Pretty good for a casual day. Paired with some black Christian Louboutin sneakers..."

            The girls returned with Amalia before Kenny could argue wearing an $1100 sweater for a  _casual_  day, like I somehow knew he would have. Anyone who wasn't used to wearing things that price would have, I'm sure. I didn't bother mentioning that Louboutin sneakers were even more expensive. He was going to get a pair anyway, probably.

            "Craig, darling!" Amalia announced her arrival in her subtle Italian accent. A stereotypical matronly, but fashionable, bun was piled on her head. "I should have been alerted the moment you stepped in the door. I'm so sorry about that. I'll have to talk to the girls; they're new, they don't know..." She shot them a stern look.

            "No, don't worry about it. Could you just bring out whatever you have that's new in menswear?"

            "Need something for Fashion Week?" I loved Amalia. She was on top of things.

            "Well, not for me. I need to dress my, um, friend here. I intend to buy him a full new wardrobe for the week. He'll be accompanying me. I won't buy it all here, but I need options. "

            Amalia gave me a knowing smile.  "Ah, he will be joining you? A new intern, perhaps?  _O nuovo ragazzo_?"

            I returned the smile. Well, he _was_ my new boyfriend, for the week, at least. Even if he had been purchased. I shrugged. " _Sì, più o meno_..."

            Amalia nodded and got back into business mode, looking Kenny up and down. Knowing he would be my companion to Fashion Week,  _and_ knowing I would be buying him new clothes, she seemed to be looking at his structure and physical makeup, rather than what he was wearing at that moment, unlike the other employees had done. They were shying away, and she was trying to figure out what would fit him best. I could already see her flicking through racks upon racks in her mind.

            "Alright, I have the perfect things. You wait here. Come, girls."

            Amalia turned out, the employees bustling right behind, relieved to be leaving my presence. I knew they would dread me coming into the store whenever the next time would be. I looked forward to it with sick pleasure.

            " _You know Italian?_ " Kenny whispered to me as they scurried away. He was still fondling the sleeve of the sweater.

 

            "Eh, a little. Just the basics, I guess. I know a little in Italian, Spanish, French, and German.  It's useful for travelling and dealing with international designers and models. Of which there are a lot... _You speak anything other than English?”_

            "What? What, no. Well, I know like…two words in German.”

            "Two only? That’s a shame. We could’ve had secret conversations.  _Mein Deutsch ist sehr gut._  My mom’s family is Belgian and a lot of my family speaks German only, like my grandparents, so it's my best. What words do you know?"

 

            He coughed hard before replying. "... _Sheiβe._  And  _schlampe_."

 

            I couldn’t help but laugh hard out loud. Shit and slut.  _I was not surprised. In fact, I was kind of proud._

            "Well, alright. I'll have to teach you a little more sometime. I'll tell you, you haven't lived until you've spoken to Heidi Klum in her mother tongue. It's a beautiful experience."

            "You know Heidi Klum." It wasn't a question.

            "I was a guest judge on Project Runway last season," I explained with a nonchalant shrug (although, honestly, it was one of my proudest moments).

             Before he could even react, Amalia was back with a rack, hand selected to fit Kenny. She had already weeded out what she knew I would throw out.

            "Here we are, Mr. Tucker. I've pulled three dress shirts and three casual, and two pants."

            I flicked through them, already knowing they would be perfect. I was just taking inventory to make sure what else we would need.

            "That's perfect, Amalia, thank you. Actually-" I pulled the camo sweater away from Kenny's caress and added it to the rack. "That too, and we'll be set."

            "But-" was all the protest he could get out.

            "Are you paying?"

            "No."

            "Then you're getting it, and liking it."

            Despite that he was the one getting treated, I was getting a strange surge of power and satisfaction from doing this. It was like the feeling you get when you donate to a charity, except for in this case, my charity was a sexy man I could pull strings on because I was throwing what he knew to be shit tons of money at him. It was great. I wondered if I could just…adopt him permanently. 

            I paid without listening to the total, and we left. I let Kenny carry one of the bags so that he didn't look quite so pathetic. I figured if he was seen with a Valentino bag, people might guess that his lame 90's tank was actually from some expensive LA unknown.

            As I promised him, we ended up going to get the Louboutins, where he eventually did see the price tag, and if my car didn't cause him to piss a little, that did.

             "The clothes are fine, but I'm walking on these! They're going to get destroyed!" was his chosen form of protest. I told him that if he didn't shut up, he was going to get two pairs.

            We popped into Armani to pick up at least one decent suit, as well as Gucci, Prada, and Ralph Lauren. At each store front, we had a similar case as we had with Valentino's. We just made it a little faster by having me walk in first. By the end of the day, we had enough clothes for him to have a formal and casual outfit for each day of the week, as well as two bags, three ties, four pairs of shoes, and a cologne. By the time we had left the last shop, he had stopped his protesting. He learned quickly that money was no issue for me, especially when I got discounts here and there just for being me.

            It was the Golden Hour by the time we had gotten back to the limo, and we struggled to fit the bags around us without messing any of them up.

            “So, we’re headed back to my place for now. We still need to get everything packed and get you sorted into your…position before we leave to New York.”

               “My position?” Kenny asked.

               “Well, yeah. I’m hiring you to be the up and coming It Boy boyfriend of mine. That’s means a little more than just new clothes.”

               He sat back in his seat, like he was giving up on what he was going to say next, and hummed softly. "I was going to say I didn't really bring anything with me, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

            I shook my head wordlessly. It wasn't like he would need any of his clothes. We weren't leaving for New York until Sunday, but there was no harm in him starting to wear his new style the next day and on the plane.

            "You don't mind staying the night, do you? I have plenty of guest rooms, so you won't have to worry about that." It was a little late to ask, since he couldn’t really turn back now, but it couldn’t hurt. I was making it as open and non-sexual as possible. We didn't need to get into that yet, as much as I would have been fully willing to. It was ironic that we started out relationship with a lap dance, where he wore next to nothing, but I needed to gain his trust. He had told me that he had standards, and I was going to respect that. I was paying him to be my escort and companion in New York, not in my bedroom. I wasn't going to turn him into a prostitute. If our arrangement turned sexual, I was going to make sure that it was legitimate.

            "No,  I don't mind," he replied without missing a beat. I doubt anything sexual crossed his mind as much as it did mine in that moment, and I was again glad that he didn't feel awkward around me. If anything, it would make it easier for me to earn his trust.

            "Good, because we have…so much to go over," I said. "Wardrobe isn't enough. You need a complete transformation if anyone is going to believe that you are a high-class boyfriend of mine, and not...well, you." Again, not that that was a bad thing. He seemed to understand. I was also curious to see how he would react to my first use of the word "boyfriend" as opposed to "escort" or "companion" - especially since he had apparently not understood Amalia's use of the word  _ragazzo_.

 

            He was…completely unfazed. Although, at this point, I don't think he cared  _what_  I called him. He was getting paid, he was getting treated, and as long as I didn't fuck with him or his standards (which is another way of saying "as long as I respected him and didn't outright pay him to be my sex-slave"), he was going to sit back and enjoy the ride.

 

            As we neared my home in Beverly Hills, I couldn't ignore the one thing that kept nagging at me. I was paying him to be mine in public, but I would be keeping business and private life completely separate. So what the hell was supposed to happen behind the door of our single New York hotel room?

 


	3. 3

**Kenny POV**                

Okay, so…how do I seem to be treating this thing? Nonchalant? Like it happens every damn day? Yeah, that’s probably how it looks. Probably just my attitude. I tend to come off like that. What do they call it? Flippant? Yeah, that’s how I am on the outside. Maybe that’s why I rarely get taken out of the Passion Pit. They like my exterior, but not my _exterior_. Know what I mean? They like what they see until they actually have to deal with it on an emotional level. I guess it makes sense then that first “serious” boyfriend I get after the past few years is paying me… _and_ needs me to be as unlike a stripper as possible. But that’s neither here nor there.

Why?

Because, despite my I’m-so-cool attitude, and the way I roll with the punches, I have to say, I think I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in this whole damn city right now. Don’t think so? Fine. Show me another lower class person who just flew into LA for the first time who went from a nobody dancer to having their net worth, in a wardrobe alone, go upwards of ten thousand dollars in a single afternoon. Not to mention, they have to have a pretty smoking benefactor. Yeah, I said it. Craig Tucker is pretty fucking hot. Although honestly, it’s probably like some unwritten law that you have to be hot in the fashion industry. Not that I’ve seen many designers. But they’re probably hot. You wouldn’t buy clothes from someone who didn’t have their shit together, would you? Well, maybe, maybe. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’m a lucky fuck, even without getting stuff from a kinda sexy guy. And I am. I don’t know what it was. Maybe the rolled up sleeves on his button up. That _kills_ me. I don’t know why. Maybe I have a thing for forearms. Maybe it’s the perfect combination of relaxed and refined. I don’t know. But I like it

As it is, I was already feeling pretty lucky the night before, with the three grand alone. I mean, talk about a fucking tip. As it is, I have to pull out the big guns to get a twenty. I thought I was pretty tame to get _that_ much so early on. I guess the rich bastard was on a mission. He was probably set on his offer before even seeing anyone dance.

I have to say though, even though I’ve taken to calling him rich bastard – I’m sure that’s how he will appear in my memoirs – he isn’t a bastard….at al. I just assumed, you know, with the suit and all. But aside from the mild snobbery that comes with the fortune, he doesn’t have a shitty bone in his body. I never would have guessed based on how he was in school. Kinda quiet. Got sent to the office a lot for some reason. Just strikes you as a bastard kind of person. But he’s really not. Which is exactly why I’m going to keep calling him that.

And if all that wasn’t enough, he rolls up in a motherfucking _Aston Martin_ to pick me up. An Aston Martin Vanquish, which has been my dream car ever since I had first seen one on a tiny screen through tv static. And by dream car, I mean it’s been a dream of mine to see one in person. Riding one was a whole new level of desire. Owning one might kill me. I swear to God, that engine nearly gave me an orgasm. And that was just…his fucking _rental_.

The _shopping_ , though, is…something I don’t really have words for. I’m still trying to get my mind wrapped around the value retail value of the limo’s back seat. What did I do to deserve it all? Be in the right strip club at the same time? Have grown up with Craig Tucker and let him forget me until a fateful moment? Maybe you can play it off by saying he’s just doing it to make himself look good, but he’s being _stupidly_ nice about it. Like, do I need that camo sweater? Fuck no, it costs more than I do.

               But I’m gunna wear it.

            And if all of that didn't make me realize how lucky I was, seeing his house did. It was like I was hit in the head with a brick. Or ten thousand, plus period style columns, a round-a-bout driveway, and a classy fountain. It kind of gave me an idea of what I was really dealing with. Let me put it this way - we basically pulled up to Regina George's house on steroids, and before you say anything,  _everyone_ has seen  _Mean Girls_. Since I'm too gay to function, I've seen it at least fifteen times.

            I'm pretty sure I let an extra loose  _'fuck'_  escape my mouth, and the saintliest bastard in Beverly Hills chuckled at me as he let me out of the limo. I followed him into the home and I was kind of surprised and disappointed to see that a butler wasn't there to open the door for us.

            "I have one," Craig confirmed after I voiced my disappointment. "He just wasn't expecting me. Besides, there's no point ringing the bell and waiting for him to answer when I have a key right here." See? He could be a lot worse. To be honest, I'd probably be the asshole that would ring the doorbell with a key in my hand. I'm bad, I know.

            I followed him inside, and sure enough, a butler was there in his foyer (which was immaculate, by the way), but not old and hoity-toity like you might expect. He was just a dude. So I guess that was a little disappointing, too, but when the most disappointing thing about someone is that their butler isn’t a stereotype, I guess they’re on good footing.

            "Kevin, where did you put the binder?" Craig addressed him, as he dusted the banister on a staircase.

            "It's on the shelf, sir, where you requested I put it last time."

            "Great. Could you please help Kenny, here, in bringing in the bags from the limo? Into the right sitting room, please. And treat him as you would treat me. He's our special guest here."

            I don't know how much Kevin knew about Craig's actual relationship to me, but he just nodded like it was nothing. "Got a lot of shopping done today, Master Kenny?"

             _Master_  Kenny. Fancy that shit. I can tell you the last time someone called me master. I can also tell you that it wasn't a butler and I was not on prime real estate. Kevin helped me carry in what bags we had and I followed him to the right wing to where Craig had a sitting room. It wasn't as museum-y as I expected, and after that, I decided to toss out any other millionaire clichés I had, because after being wrong about the butler, and wrong about the decor, I figured not all of them lived like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, with the Geoffrey butler and the all white walls. Still, it was a nice room. Very warm feeling, with dark wood and plump burgundy love seats. In the center of the room was a round table with dark wood to match the rest of the room, and on the table was a thick binder. Craig sat on one of the love seats with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the binder, until he looked up when I walked in with Kevin.

            "Oh, thank you Kevin, you can just leave the bags there and we'll sort them out in a bit. Kenny, come here, we have work to do. And Kevin? Could you bring drinks, please?"

            The butler bowed out and left the room as I took a seat next to where Craig gestured. The sound of drinks was so fantastic to me that I didn't even care that we had work to do, whatever it was. Considering I had thrown out my Richie Rich tropes, I hoped we would be getting something a little stronger than high tea. Shamed to say my feet were killing me after walking around all day, and I rubbed at my ankles where my Docs had blistered me.

            "Do you want to change before we start?" Craig offered. "You can start getting used to the feel of the new clothes."

            I looked down at myself, the way my tank top hung off of me and the way the frayed edges of my shorts lay on my thighs. "No, it's alright, I'm fine like this for now, let's just get this done, whatever it is."

            Really, I wouldn't have minded changing clothes, but I figured I could go for teasing my benefactor a little more. I had seen him looking at my legs, and I wasn't going to hide the view from him sooner than I had to. I was having a perfectly fine time, now that he could look and not necessarily touch, being out of the safety of the strip club.

            Craig lifted the binder onto his lap just as Kevin made his way in with wine, thank God, and it was probably really fancy stuff, too. No two buck chuck in this house.

            "So what is this that we have to do, exactly?" I asked, sipping gingerly at my wine. Better than any wine I had ever had before, so I took a second sip.

            "I told you, it's not enough for you to have nice clothes. I need to train you on how to be part of our circle."

            "What, like etiquette lessons?" Because if that was the case, my manners were just  _fine_. I could act classy if I really felt like it.

            "No, I'm sure you can handle all of that. I just need to get you to a point where you sound like you belong. If you know who's who, you should be able to get along fine. Uh, let's start here..."

            Craig flipped open to one of the first pages where there were four pictures of four different men, two on each page, with a bio next to each. It was then that it hit me - Craig had a binder of just  _people_ in the fashion industry. Maybe a little creepy…I had to tip my hat to him for staying on top of it all.

            "Alright," he said, "These four are the most important in the industry right now. Well, the two on the right are. If someone namedrops them, and you don't know who they're talking about, your cover will be blown almost instantaneously."

               He pointed first to the man on the top left page. He was pretty stoic and had shaggy black hair in his eyes. His age was difficult to place, and despite his kind of brooding expression, he was still fairly attractive.

               “This is Stan Marsh. Eighty percent or more of everything you’ve seen on the red carpet recently is done by him.”

               “I haven’t seen _any_ red carpets recently, but I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never heard of him.”

               “He mostly deals in high class women’s fashion, and when he does something for men, it’s ridiculously expensive.” I eyed the bags sitting in the other side of the room. “No, we didn’t but anything of his. I hate him.”

               I had to laugh out loud. “Why?”

               Craig shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do. It’s…principle. I guess. And crazy shit tends to happen around him, and I prefer to stay out of crazy shit.”

               “I’m not crazy shit?” I asked.

               “Not like that. Anyway, if you don’t recognize him, we might as well cancel all the plans now. Same goes for… _this_ man.”

               Craig traced his finger down to the photo below Stan’s. The man in that picture was a large brunette that only made me think of an ox. He exuded a sense of power, but I didn’t peg him as a designer.

               “Have you…seen _The Devil Wears Prada_?” Craig asked, like it was a long shot. I nodded. My sister had made me watch it once upon a time, and I had actually enjoyed it.

               “This is Eric Cartman. He _is_ Miranda Priestly. And he will eat you alive. Literally and figuratively.”

               “Oh. Shit.”

               “Yeah. Editor in Chief of our own _Runway_. And he may bite your head off either way, but if you give respect to – or stay away from anyone – give it to him.”

               “More than Stan?”

            Craig made a face like he was thinking hard. "Yeah, even above Stan, actually. Eric Cartman will always be in charge, because he decides who's in and who's out in editing that magazine. At the moment, though, Stan is a favorite of Cartman's, for some reason. None of us can figure out what makes them stick together, but there you go. They're seen together a lot, and recently, Stan's had a lot of editorial shots."

            "What about these two?" I asked, gesturing to the faces on the right page, opposite Eric and Stan. They all seemed to be close in age, but the faces on the right were less intimidating. And...funny enough, more attractive in my opion.

            "Their assistants. They’re seen more than heard, but everyone knows those four have…some kind of _something_ going on. A little more than coffee boys, but might as well be, compared to everyone else. And you think that's nothing, but those are the two most coveted positions for young people trying to get into the industry. Spend a few years as an assistant for Stan or Eric and you're pretty much set, if you can survive. It's grueling.  _The Devil Wears Prada_  is pretty close to the truth in all honesty.”

               “They’re…so young.”

               Craig took that without arguing. “And Stan and Eric are lucky. And ruthless. Maybe a little blood thirsty.”

               And I didn’t do jack shit to get in the “fashion industy.” I’m telling you, I hit a royal flush.

            "It's best that you know the assistants, too. It shows more respect for their bosses and we should just know these things. Besides, since you're coming as Craig Tucker's escort or boyfriend or whatever the hell you are, you'll probably be more expected to mingle with them, rather than people like Eric and Stan. _These_ are the ones you'll be talking to, and _those_ are the ones you will have to know about."

            He pointed first to the one across from Stan, a young man with shockingly red, curly hair. "This is Kyle. He's stupidly passionate about his job. It's almost scary, but if it were less, he wouldn’t be able to keep up. It's kind of a perfect match, but he's very intense about everything we do. I've seen some of his ideas for fashion, and they aren't bad, but they're all overly ambitious and push the limit. He could make three out-of-the-box dresses, and while two may be the ugliest thing to grace the planet, the third could be a masterpiece, so...he's getting there. Very hit and miss. He's crazy loyal, though. I've heard him be referred to as Stan's lapdog before. You can be the judge of that."

            I smirked, enjoying the inner workings of the industry. I don't what it was, but I was kind of obsessed with relationships and the way everyone tied together. It was hard not to memorize everyone.

            "And this is Leo," Craig added, pointing to the soft face below Eric’s. “But he’s usually called Butters. I’ve never figured out why, but based on how close those four are right now, I don’t think I want to know, either. He is beyond organized and methodical. No one is supposed to know, but he's actually helped with a lot of the magazine ideas, as far as layout and design goes, amongst other things. He could never help with the final say, but we all know Eric has actually listened to his input. He's not the most profound of designers, but he definitely knows his stuff. I swear to God, you will never see these four far from each other. Kyle and Stan knew each other from before actually, so they’re even closer. You’ll have to see it for yourself to get what I mean. Anyway…”

            Craig flipped the pages to a very pretty girl, with samples of dresses she had designed paper clipped to her portrait. Even I could appreciate the intricacy and overwhelming detail that went into each one.

               “This is Wendy Testaburger. From what I’ve heard, she knew Kyle and Stan from before all this, too, but she really took off on her own. Her skill and speed are kind of unprecedented.”

            We went through what felt like hundreds of photographs, and I have to say, I'm not sure if the wine helped or harmed my memory of them all, but it was something appreciated anyway. There were a few that distinctly stuck out to me, however. Amongst those we had already gone over, there was another women designer, simply known as _Red_ , who had just made a breakthrough with menswear for women. She was in a rather famous and publicized relationship with a girl called Bebe, a rather new Victoria's Secret Angel, who was turning heads because she was attractive enough that she could get away with being the shortest model in the industry – let alone for being the first outed lesbian Angel. There was also a duo of designers, Heidi and Nicole, who had recently started a collaboration brand called Sweet Potatoes that they were planning to show. A lot of the outfits had a sort of hippie vibe, with eclectic styling and 'organic materials,' whatever that meant.

            We skimmed quickly through more models that weren't necessary for me to remember, just because it would be useful for me to recognize their faces. To be honest, besides Bebe, some of the attractive male models were all that really stuck out to me. I had the designers down pretty well, and the most important and breakthrough artists. Craig had pretty high standing, it turned out, and it helped that he was a fashion photographer as well. To me, I think I knew _more_ than enough at that point.

               “Are we done yet?” I groaned, running my hand through my hair. After a day of travel and walking around in the LA sun, it was a little dirtier than I would have liked and stayed in the messy position my hands had put it in. Normally I would revel in devil-may-care shit, but it was kind of embarrassing, considering where I was at and what I was doing. Craig’s hair was supremely gelled, combed, and styled. Probably a good part of what made him unrecognizable to me at first. His hair had always hung in his eyes back in high school. Always had him pegged for an emo kid or some shit.

               I know I was being paid to learn this and everything, but I felt that we were just going around in circles. We had poured over the binder for hours, and I don’t know if Craig actually expected me to have anyone memorized. I could not name everyone off the top of my head, but when I was shown a picture of them, I could at least describe them. Even if I didn’t know what their actual name was, as long as I could match recognize their face and trigger their name later, I was good, right? Besides, after having sat on that loveseat in my shorty-shorts for so long, I was started to get uncomfortable and I really wished I had opted to change first. For as much as we spent on my new clothes, I bet that they wouldn’t give me discomfort. Or maybe they would, I don’t know, but I can’t imagine that someone would pay a grand for an outfit if it wasn’t at least a little comfortable.

               “Yeah, I guess we can be done,” Craig said, as if he was reluctant to give up on the studying. I couldn’t see why. I understood that I had to know this stuff, but he had to be as over it as I was, just sitting there going over faces and names that he was probably even  more sick of than I was. His eyes flitted to my lap as I sat up slightly to tug at my riding-up shorts. Oh.

               “So, the flight leaves tomorrow about noon. Do you think you can be ready by then? We’ll just be leaving from LAX, so it won’t take too long for us to get to the airport. I have your ticket bought and everything.”           

            Normally, I would have expressed not having enough time to be ready, or pack, or prepare, I guess just to delay and save my nerves a bit, but in this case, I realized I didn't actually have much to prepare for. Technically, with my clothes in bags, everything I needed was already packed, and Craig later informed me that Kevin would be transferring everything to suitcases. Everything was being provided for, and when I found out I was even going to be given my own dental floss, I realized how much I was being pampered, even more so than when I had been bought fancy clothes. I wear clothes, like, every day. Do you know how many times I’ve used dental floss in my life? Like, fucking, zero.

            It did seem extreme at first (haha, _at first_. It never stops seeming extreme), but now that I think about it, it probably wasn't extreme for Craig at all. This is probably how he would treat his  _real_ boyfriend, if he had one. It didn't make much of a difference if I was a nobody, because his whole plan was to treat me the exact same way. I guess it was just me coming from nothing and suddenly having everything at my fingertips that made it extreme for me. All of this was just another day in the life of multimillionaire Craig Tucker (holy _fuck_ , multimillion. I don’t think anyone else from South Park is a multi-anything). I was going to get used to living the same life, I thought. For a week, at least. Honestly, it was probably going to fuck me up to go back to jack shit after this. Well, jack shit living conditions in my new Armani clothes, because Craig ain’t fucking gettin’ any of this back. He’s too tall.

            Anyway, since "being ready" wasn't an issue, I brought up the only other thing there was to be sassy about.

            "You already had my tickets for everything? How did you know I was even going to come?"

            Craig shrugged, not reading that I was just being bitchy for the sake of being bitchy. Believe me, I’m grateful. And loving this. I just…am like this. For fun. And discomfort. Some people tell jokes to dispel their discomfort. I act like a bitch for no real reason. And I can’t deny that I still have lingering nerves.

            "I was going to hire someone whether it was you or not," he responded. "I had the check written out, too. I was hoping whoever headlined at the Passion Pit that night would fit the part. I was lucky enough."

            I shrugged then, having nothing left worth while or cool to say, and let him show me to my guest room. It turned out that there were multiple, and I wasn't exactly surprised, but I was happy with the one I was given and didn't need to see any others.

            "You have your own bathroom, just there to the left, and the shower should be completely stocked for you. If you need anything, just ring the bell on your bedside table and Kevin will be right in to assist you. Sleep well!"

            He sounded genuine as he left the room and went off to wherever he would be sleeping. Hearing Craig sound genuine was just…so strange to me. I guess I had built up some assumption about him during school that was just all wrong, because he was nothing like I had always imagined. Not that I…thought of him often during school or anything. I took in the room, breathing in the air of it. It reminded me of a hotel room - a ridiculously nice one that I couldn't afford - and it was definitely nicer than my entire home. It was nicer than _anyone’s_ home I knew of honestly. The bed was a queen size and had those soft satiny kind of sheets that I could never resist sliding a hand over when I saw them at the store. Everything was dark greens and browns, and for some reason, it just made everything look more expensive. As if it wasn't already.

            I saw that Kevin (possibly) had laid out my new pajamas and I just sighed, running a hand over my forehead and across my hair until it flopped over my eyes once more. I put them over my arm and took them into the bathroom with me, figuring out that if I didn't get used to the luxe lifestyle now, I never would, and everyone I would meet in the next week would see through me.

            I stripped and got in the shower, laying out my things in a neat pile on the toilet seat. I never would have been so meticulous at home, or even the dressing room at work, as I had a tendency to throw my clothes all over the place in semi-organized chaotic piles. However, I felt different here, like I had a part to play, even behind closed doors. It was like that weird feeling you get when you're staying the night at a friend's house and you have to use their shower, and it's a routine thing but it feels so foreign to you. But on a much larger scale.

            I stepped into the shower, which was actually fairly normal. It wasn't one of those freaky billion-dollar showers that looks like it came from the future or anything. Just...nice, with one of those large, massaging heads and mosaic rock walls. I laughed quietly to myself noticing the shower was stocked with Axe products. For some reason, I expected Craig to be stocked with some expensive salon products instead, but I shrugged. He was still a dude, and these were the best smelling dude products I knew of, so whatever. I turned on the shower and let the hot droplets sooth my back muscles which had begun to ache as I had crouched over the binder with him. I felt a familiar twinge between my legs, remembering how the large book had hiked my shorts up further, and how I had been painfully aware of Craig's awareness. God damn it. The point had been to be a brat and tease him, right? Well, it backfired, clearly.

            With one hand, I helped myself out a little, not thinking of any raven-haired millionaire in particular and trying to ignore how easy my excitement had come, and with the other hand, I shook water and shampoo out of my mop of hair. I made my best attempt to scrub off any remnants of Kenny the Angel, so that when I stepped out of the shower, I could be Kenneth McCormick, the high class socialite boyfriend of Craig Tucker. Maybe the shower had magical powers that would somehow make that happen a little faster and more accurately.

            I got out and dried myself off, making use of all the toiletries that had been provided to me, including the floss. First time ever doing it, but I was a new person. Kind of. I think.

            I shook a towel over my hair and tied another low around my hips, hesitating to put on the pajamas for as long as possible. I even got into bed completely naked at first. And I don't know what I was expecting, really. Well, I mean, I do know what I was expecting, I guess. But after all, after the talk about my standards and the shower washing away the Angel, and even jerking out all excitement I thought I had, I was and always will be a stripper. It's kind of part of my identity at this point. I'm used to tempting people, getting them to pay me, and then getting them to request for me to do more stuff, and then getting paid again, with little to know personal feelings or emotions involved. It's the regular cycle of things. And I had already tempted Craig. And I had already gotten one  _hell_ of a payment, with even more to come. So when did the part come where he came back asking me for more?

            Okay. So I guess that would make me a prostitute, technically. And I  _did_  say I was just a stripper and nothing more. And he  _did_  say I was being hired as an escort. But...damn. I had seen him looking at me, and the three grand is kind of much to just be the boyfriend in public. With every action, Craig became less and less the rich bastard I had believed him to be. It was kind of incredible.

            It's not that I was...you know, like,  _disappointed_. It was just...I mean, after everything, I did still kind of expect it. Not that I wanted it or anything. He was just checking me out, and I thought for sure...

            I slipped into the pajamas once I was positive that I wasn't going to be slipping out of them again anyway and fell asleep wondering what it was about me that made Craig Tucker  _not_  want to take advantage of the situation. Because I know I would have. If I were him. If I could bang myself…ooh, hot damn.

               Despite the fact that I had _just_ been on a plane, it was still a surreal experience the next day. Maybe it was because we were _leaving_ from LAX this time, or because it was still kind of new to me, or because paparazzi and glitterati were _everywhere_ – a whole new scale than I had seen leaving for Denver. Maybe because it was now the eve of fashion week. Or, maybe it was surreal because this time, I was dressed and acting the part now. For one, we had to be more friendly towards each other. There were press around now, and if we were seen being indifferent towards each other and then a couple in New York, someone would notice for sure. So we smiled and chatted and made it look like we were invested in each other. Actually, it wasn’t so hard to do. Craig was kind of easy to talk to, and the fact that he wasn’t the douche I expected was a great help. He was pretty cool, to be honest. Not just because he drives and Lambo and buys me shit.

            I had wondered if my new clothes would make it harder for Craig to look at me the way he had looked at me the two days before, when I had worn next to nothing. I tried his technique of rolling up my button up shirt's sleeves to the elbows, and even I was attracted to myself (not to mention it actually _was_ pretty comfortable, thank God. I don’t know jack shit about fabric or whatever, but it was soft instead of stiff and starchy like I had been expecting). If anything different was running through his mind though, I couldn't tell. It was stupid of me. Of course he was going to look at me like he wanted me - he was acting. He even thought he saw someone he recognized and grabbed my hand in the terminal in case they saw us. I just went with it. I guess, probably, maybe I would have pulled it away otherwise, but I kept the situation at the front of my mind and didn't allow myself to. You know, just in case he decided to take money back. So I held his hand.

            I'd tell you all about first class and the atmosphere and experience and all that shit, but I actually kind of fell asleep for the entire length of the six hour plane ride. It was kind of a shame because the first time had been great and I got to watch a movie, and I was looking forward to watching more, but oh well. I hadn't actually gotten great sleep the night before, over thinking everything, but Craig didn't seem to mind and he never tried to jolt me awake.

            When my eyes finally fluttered open as we neared New York, I noticed my head rested gently on Craig's shoulder. The first thing that came to my mind was that I hoped that I had not drooled, but wiping at my mouth, I was relieved to find that I had not. Craig mentioned again, as if he were afraid that I was going to forget and be freaked out or something, that he didn't move me because the position would prove to be good publicity for him. I shrugged. It wasn't like I cared either way. He made a pretty good pillow. I think he was paranoid about what I thought about having to be at  _his_  side, but part of my luck  _was_ that he was who he was. I mean, I can't even imagine going home with some of the other customers I've had. Even if they  _were_  loaded. Gross, sloppy, handsy, perverted slimeballs, most of them. Like, if Craig was actually Garrison…fuck, no. Craig was just a different breed of customer. If I were to be comfortable with  _any_  customer being handsy, it would be someone like Craig, in all honesty. And yet, here he was, apologizing for grabbing my hand and for not moving my head, when he had already spent more on me than I had made in my entire career. Go figure.

            Landing and getting off the plane was all kind of a blur as I was still in that disillusioned state of waking up after a long travel nap when your mind is slow and your legs are kind of slower. I let Craig hold my hand for an even longer time, traversing the JFK, but part of me needed him to hold on to me so that I kept shuffling my sleeping feet along without getting lost.

            I was awake enough to realize that we did not collect our baggage, but later saw that we were greeted with a chauffeur who already had our bags by his side and held up a sign that read 'Mr. Tucker’ – just like Mr. Kim at LAX had. It was just weirder, because Craig obviously didn’t know this guy. Yet another thing that I thought only happened in movies, but I tried to hide my surprise as I followed Craig to him and outside to a shiny black car with tinted windows. Before I could even take in the city that was New York, we were pulling up to the curb and my door was opened for me. I looked up to where we had pulled up to - the Ritz-Carlton. Well, shit. I didn’t even know that was a real place. He couldn't even give me a break and pick like, I don’t know, a Hampton or something. I wasn't going to complain now, though.

            I followed him in as another door opened for us, and tried not to gasp at the lobby. I didn't know what the White House interior looked like, but it had to be close to this. It was more immaculate than Craig's house. More white and showy, rather than a warm, cozy kind of luxury.

            Craig went straight to the reception desk like he had been there before (and probably had), and I followed immediately behind. Even in my new clothes, dragging a suitcase, and having my hair clean and combed, I felt out of place if I wasn't by my benefactor's side. I slid my tongue over my lip ring. Right. Maybe that was it. But I told Craig that unless we were headed to a very formal event, I wasn't taking it out. I wasn't going to me, but I still had to be  _me._ I was suddenly hyper-aware of the tattoo on my hipbone.

            Craig had checked us into our room, and the receptionist seemed to recognize him, but said nothing to me. She wasn't ignoring me the way the girls on Rodeo Drive had - she knew that I was a VIP in this case - but wasn't making a fuss over me out of respect. I appreciated it.

            As we approached the elevator, I noticed a pair huddled and chatting excitedly over a sketchbook on one of the lobby sofas. Just by their appearance and close proximity, I was able to recognize them as Heidi and Nicole, the designers behind Sweet Potatoes.

            "Heidi! Nicole!" Craig shouted out to them as though they were old friends. Maybe they were. He didn’t mention.

            The pair looked up instantly and simultaneously.

            "Well, well, if it isn't Craig Tucker!" greeted Heidi. Her intensely bright sweater was a very odd choice for a literal fashion designer, I thought. But they were supposed to be the unconventional designers, so maybe it didn't mean anything. She shook hands with Craig, but it came across as a far friendlier gesture than a generic business handshake. I decided that the three were actually good acquaintances and not just people in the same industry. I recalled that they were based in LA as well.

            "Who's this, new boyfriend?" asked Nicole, nodding to me. She had folded the sketchbook and tucked it under her arm, now standing next to Heidi. Craig opened his mouth to answer, but I decided to get ahead of him and I opened mine instead.

            "That's right! Kenny McCormick, nice to meet you, I've heard a lot. I enjoy your work," I said, shaking hands with them both. I had debated adding the last line, but I figured these two were fairly laid back and that it would go over well. Besides, I wasn't a designer anyway, so I guess it kind of was okay. I couldn't imagine designers, like Wendy and Stan, complimenting any other designer in such a way, though.

            "Ooh, who _is_ he?" Nicole asked. She wasn't saying it like she was pretending I couldn't hear, but more to tease Craig. She seemed like that kind of mischievous soul. "Is he a new model of yours?"

            She tossed me a playful wink, and then I remembered that models had to be fit and attractive, so she probably recognized me as such. I felt the pride that I had lost the night before seeping back.

            Craig looked to Nicole and then flicked his head to me.

            "Yeah, he is, actually. I just couldn't stay away from him. Best model I've had, I must say. Cute, isn't he?"

            “He really _is_ ," Nicole replied, and I thought I could sense a wordless exchange go on between her and Heidi. "Well, I can't wait to see you on the runway, then! See you guys later!"

            Wait, wait, wait. What the _fuck._

 


	4. 4

Heidi and Nicole went back to their sketches and I turned on my heel to get in the elevator. I didn't even look at Kenny, but a secret smile started to grow on my lips as I felt his eyes bore into me from behind.

            The elevator doors shut and I closed my eyes, waiting for what I knew was going to come. The smile never left my lips. 5, 4, 3, 2...

            "What the  _hell_?"

            Yup. There is was.

            "What?" I asked innocently. I finally turned to look at him. Despite his confused, displeased expression, mine did not falter.

            "You know what!"

            I shrugged, and I could almost feel his hatred towards my "so what?" attitude.

            "I'm not a model! You brought me here as escort, not as an employee!"

            "Well,  _technically_ , an escort is also a kind of employee..."

            "You know what I mean!" he yelled back to me.

            "Alright, yeah, fine...," I was forced to give up. "It just seemed like a good opportunity to pick up on. Don’t you think?” He didn’t think. “I mean, I can't say I hadn't thought about it at all before. Like...you have the body. You have the attitude. You have the face."

            Kenny now seemed to soften slightly as though he were going to take it as a compliment, but he retained a certain amount of stiffness. "As much as I appreciate your taking notice of my body, I feel the need to remind you that  _I am not a model._ "

            I sighed and rubbed at my temples. We were nearing our floor.

            "Look," I said. "It really isn't  _that_  hard of a task, I'm sure. You don't need to be perfect. You already have the hardest parts down, you know what with the whole looks and personality thing." I figured it could only work in my favor to continue throwing the compliments at him. That is, if he took them as a compliment. I figured I would continue to take my chances. "I'll get some of my other guys to coach you on walking in secret, and until then...well, just keep acting like you. It's a pretty believable image."

            He ran a hand through the front part of his hair which immediately flopped back down onto his forehead. Yeah, he was going to be perfect.  _I_  personally had no worries. The worst that could happen, as far as his actual modeling career was concerned, was that he could fall on his ass. I mean physically. Considering the fact that he had the graceful movement and balance of an exotic dancer (and I wonder where he picked  _that_  up from?), as well as the fact that the models that usually fell were women with risky heels, I was sure that he would be just fine. Plus, it’s a lot less weird of me to be dating my model than to be dating…just some unknown guy with a lip ring. Well, he’s still unknown. But in a more favorable way.

            "Do I get to keep the clothes?" was his final retort.

            "Naturally."

            "...Fine, I'll be your fucking model."

            Well. Good thing  _that_ was taken care of. Not that I was planning on giving him a choice. Token and Clyde had been the first to hear of Kenny being my "model," and I would be surprised if the whole fashion industry _didn't_ know by the time we reached our floor.

            Which we did, finally. The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, which was a cozy in between for us, and not as conspicuous as something like the penthouse. Kenny followed me to our room, midhall, and the magic of being met there by our luggage seemed to erase his negative thoughts about becoming my employee twice over.

            " _God damn,_ " he whispered as we entered the room. I suppose it was pretty nice. A lot of white with a fairly pretty view of the city outside through sheer curtains. We even had a little dining table and fire place. Nothing I wasn't used to in a hotel by this point, but I recognized what would get Kenny's attention.

            "Wait, wait. What the fuck is this?"

            "What?" I replied. What was there to whine about _now?_ I thought we were doing pretty damn good now. He was just standing in the middle of the room, and it didn't look as though he was referencing anything in particular. Everything seemed to be in order so I couldn't imagine what he would be so up in arms about.

            "This...lack of a second bed!"

            I looked around. Right. One bed. That was definitely a thing. "Well...we have one room. One room, one bed."

            "Um, no, I  _distinctly_  remember staying in motel rooms as a kid where there was more than one bed."

            "Well...those were the family suites. We aren't a family, so...no family suite."

            He groaned, evidently displeased with the arrangement. It was a little upsetting, really. I mean...right, okay, I said it before. I had hired him to be my escort. My  _public_  escort. And now he  _was_. Highly paid escort posing as my boyfriend  _and_  a model (which I suppose I was going to have to pay him extra for now). And that was all he was supposed to be, and that was all I was paying him for. We had both established that he was not a prostitute, obviously, and I got the, admittedly disappointed, feeling that we were not going to be having any sort of romantic relationship behind closed doors. I mean, right? That was never the deal. I wouldn’t have expected such a thing had I hired what’s-his-name with the cat ears that served me my gin. Well, fuck. Kenny already made me forget that guy’s name. Anyway, I couldn’t expect anything _more_ from him than what I was paying him for just because he was so…great.  Otherwise, why wouldn’t he just crawl into bed with me? I was cute enough, wasn't? I'm like...bonus payment. Who doesn't want an employer who can double as a teddy bear? Or...something kinkier than a teddy bear, I don't know. Maybe he has a thing against people with black hair. Or slightly out of alignment incisors. Nah, couldn’t be.

            "Whatever," he said, throwing his hands up. He seemed to be  _very_  disgusted with that bed. "I'm sleeping on the sofa."

            "You sure...?" I asked, knowing he wasn't going to be fought with. I knew he wouldn't have traded me for the bed, either. He just seemed to be that sort of proud person. Which was kind of a relief for me, anything. I'm taller, and from the looks of it, I would not have fit on the sofa. Kenny was _barely_ going to as it was.

            "Yeah. It's fine, I had to sleep on the arm chairs in the motels on family vacations anyway. This loveseat is nicer than my actual bed at home, to be honest."

             _Loveseat_. That seat was loveless, I can tell you that much right now.

            "Actually, I think I'm just going to sleep right now," he continued.

            "Really? You slept on the plane for  _six hours_."

            He shrugged. "Yeah. I like sleep. I'm tired. Travelling makes me tired."

               “You’ve hardly ever travelled before. How do you know it makes you tired?”

               “Well, I just found out. That okay with you?”

            He started unpacking his bags lightly, removing just his new pajamas and toiletries. He went into the bathroom to change, and I have to say I was kind of surprised. Maybe I wouldn’t have been, considering how absolutely offended he was about having only one bed, but...he was a stripper. I had had him more or less naked on my lap the night of our first meeting. The fact that he closed and locked the door in order to change and brush his teeth was...strange to me. In fact, I was sure he was the type to  _want_  to change in front of me, simply to show off his body and tease me.  Oh, well. I had a lot to learn, I guess. But then again, so did he.

            I figured I would crawl into bed as well, and I was already settled in, leaning against the headboard and flipping through a magazine when Kenny finally emerged from the bathroom. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, concentrating on the carpet as he tongued his lip ring.

            "You know," I said, flipping a page, "It's probably good that you're sleeping kind of early. We have a thing in the morning."

            He finally looked up, about to reply, and his initial dazed expression turned into one of confusion. The confusion I expected, but what he ended up saying was completely unrelated.

            "You wear glasses?"

            I pushed the ones I was wearing up the bridge of my nose, taken aback by how off topic his reply was. "For reading, yeah. Why?"

            He stared for a while, eyebrows knitting together, until he finally shook his head and waved his hand, as though he were swatting the topic out of the air.

            "No reason, forget about it. So...what is it that we're doing, exactly?"

            I cleared my throat and set the magazine aside for a moment. "It's...like a brunch. Kind of to kick the week off."

            "And we have to be there?"

            "Well, obviously. I didn't bring you here so we could stay in the hotel room all week and jack off."

            He shrugged in reply, turning slightly pink, before asking what time we had to be up and out.

            "Mm, the event starts at eight in the morning."

            If he had been drinking anything at that moment, he would have spit it out right then and there. The face he made was kind of perfect actually, a kind of sputtering thing.

            " _Fuck_ , you want me to wake up at, what, seven?"

            I shrugged. However long it took for him to get ready. "Maybe closer to six. New York traffic is kind of a bitch. Unless, that is, you want to shower in the morning..."

            "Goddamn, I'm going to sleep."

            "Goodnight, Kenny," I said simply, turning on my bedside lamp to read as Craig turned off the main light. He provided a lazy  _hmph_  in reply, grabbed a blanket, and dragged it behind him to the sofa. He flopped on and billowed the blanket up and over him, and I couldn't help but watch. By the little light of my lamp, I saw his silhouette, bucking around and trying to adjust, the arch of his back outlined perfectly in black, sweeping down and then back up around the curve of his -

            Oh, God fucking dammit.

            Kenny still ended up awake before me, believe it or not. The sun broke through the crack between the curtains and jostled me awake as it warmed my face, and it took me a moment to notice the empty sofa, hear the shower faucet, and connect the dots.

            By the time I had rolled myself out of the bed, Kenny had stopped in the shower. He came out, clothes already on (and, again, I took special note of how he changed behind closed doors, despite that steamy bathrooms make pants _hell_ to pull on), and I mumbled a greeting as I stumbled in to take a quick shower of my own. I believe he grunted a greeting in return, and it wasn't like we weren't being amiable or anything. It just turned out that neither one of us was really a morning person. Then again, I guess no one's a real morning person before eight. Except, like...farmers and old people.

            I came out after dressing in the bathroom myself. After all, if he was going to play whatever hiding and teasing game this was with me, then so was I.

            I emerged to a smell so perfect that it made the hair on my arms stand on end. "Someone found the coffee machine," I said, reveling in the bitter aroma. I was one of the few people I knew who could actually enjoy coffee just for the taste of it. A rare tongue for bitterness, I suppose. "You look nice."

            I took the opportunity to look at Kenny because, to be perfectly honest, God knows I was not awake enough to watch him come out of the bathroom that earlier. He could have been Orlando Bloom and I wouldn't have given a single fuck before a shower and coffee.

            He was wearing one of the nicer blue button-ups with black slacks, and the way he leaned against the table with the coffee maker gave him the appearance of a business man in the break room. A rich, well-dressed business man. With a lip ring. So...it was kind of perfect, really. He fit the edgy model look we were going for. With his hair still damp and actually combed into place, he was looking quite the part.

            He looked me over once, rather quickly, and nodded. "Thanks. Yeah, you too." He added creamer and two spoons of sugar to his coffee and swirled it until it was a satisfactory hazelnut color before sipping at it. I smirked, appreciating our taste differences. I poured myself a cup, ignoring the leftover creamers that Kenny had set aside for me, and drank it. I could almost feel myself purring.

            "You drink that shit straight like that?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked. I shrugged, smiled, and drank again. He made a sort of disgusted face and continued drinking from his doctored mix.

            I pushed back my sleeve to check my watch and noticed that it was actually quite a bit later than I was expecting it to be. I downed the remainder of my coffee, and I must have looked a bit frantic because Kenny did the same and tousled his, now more dry, hair. I grabbed my sports jacket and he followed suite and we scrambled out the door without a word.

            Once we were in the elevator, I checked my watch again and showed Kenny as well, both of us forgetting that he had a newly bought watch on his own wrist.

            "If we get a cab quickly, we can make it in time," I told him.

            "Didn't you say this was going to be a brunch? Why are we having brunch at eight in the morning? Isn't that more of an...eleven thing?"

            "It is a brunch," I replied. I agreed with him, but I was not going to mention that. "We have to have mingling time. I don't think we actually get served food until, like...ten."

            I could almost hear Kenny's eyes rolling at me, but he didn't say a word. We exited the elevator, made it out on the street, and got our cab all without speaking. However, the very moment that we set foot outside the hotel, our hands were in each others. Despite his odd, rather avoidant behavior behind doors, he knew how to work it when we were in the public eye. Really, he was doing perfectly. Confusion over his general behavior aside, he was actually doing a much better job than I had expected him to. I sighed, looking out the window, hoping that his interaction with humans other than myself would be adequate.

**oOo**

            "...Another hotel?"

            I looked at Kenny and shrugged. "Well, yeah. Where else would they have the thing?"

            "At least could have had it at  _our_  hotel," he grumbled. We were let out of our car and we were directed to where the brunch would be held. "What exactly is this again?"

            "It's just a kick off, really. A time to mingle and greet each other before the runway shows actually happen. It's probably perfect for you, actually. I'll introduce you to some of the people we went over in the book, although, of course, you'll probably be sticking to interaction with other models and interns. And there are two very important models of mine I need you to meet. They should be here as well."

            Kenny looked at me with an eyebrow cocked.

            "What? You aren't my only model, obviously. You're just the one I like to keep around." I gave him a wink to remind him that his job was ongoing and he gave me a single nod. "They're just two of my more experienced models that I always work with, no matter who else switches in or out of my line up. I'll let them know that you haven't done runway for long -"

            "What the _fuck_? I haven't done runway at all!"

            I stopped and gave him a look, eyebrows raised, before continuing. "I'll let them know you haven't done runway  _for long_ and that you started behind the camera – like me. That’s how we bonded, actually. We share the photographer’s eye. They'll be happy to give you performance and walking pointers without thinking I'm letting a _complete_ amateur on my catwalk."

 

            "...But you  _are_  letting a complete amateur on your catwalk."

            I rubbed my temples. " _Yes_ , but  _they_  don't know that." I couldn't tell if he was just playing with me, or if he actually thought I was being that dumb. I know I can be blunt, but he was pretty brash about it all, too.

            "Yeah, yeah, I know, fine, whatever."

            "Just act like you've done this kind of thing before. I mean, you have, really. Been up in front of people, shown off your body."

            He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'll be cool."

            "Good. Now let's get through today and we'll see how it goes."

            We followed signs and directors until we made it to one of those ballroom style rooms that big hotels have. It was filled with dozens of round tables and chairs, but hardly anyone was sitting down. It was evident that not everyone was present - just a good handful of the most popular designers, some of their entourages, and a smattering of models. The models often had events of their own, and considering their strict diets, didn't have much reason to attend a huge brunch anyway. Is that harsh? I mean, it’s true. It isn’t like anyone really _says_ anything about it, but still, no one is going to shell out money for mini muffins that no one is gunna touch. Still, there were a few models there - particularly those who worked with their designers consistently. Some designers just went with whichever models they were given for a particular show, building no connection. I liked to know mine, personally. If I'm being perfectly honest, Kenny's not the first of my models I've had a fling with…He is, however, the first one I’ve had that is both committed _and_ fake. Can’t let my therapist get bored.

            Gazing around the room, I could pick out a few faces that Kenny would recognize. Nicole and Heidi were chattering in the corner of the room, closer to the currently empty buffet table than anyone else. They had seen us walk in the room and Nicole winked, but they didn't move. They were probably scoping out everyone, because honestly, they were probably the best gossips in the industry. I'd be willing to bet that a lot of magazines got their news from those two. Meaning everyone in the room definitely probably knew Kenny already.

            I also eyed Red in one of her signature suits chatting with Bebe who seemed to be the only one of the Victoria's Secret Angels in the room. It was to be expected. Bebe was there for Red, not the event.

            Next to catch my eye (and I probably should have looked for him first) was Stan. He lingered on the far other side of the room, and no one seemed to be getting too close to him besides Eric, who stood by his side chatting, and the two assistants, Kyle and Butters, talking to each other nearby, but not venturing more than a foot and a half away from their bosses.

            "Come on, we'd be insane not to greet them first. They're the royalty of this place," I told Kenny, grabbing his hand. He didn't even have to ask who I was talking about. He followed me to the group of them, standing there like they really  _were_ royalty, expecting their subjects to come pay them visits. In it a way, it was pretty obnoxious, but they had climbed to the top, so they did kind of have a right to be better than everyone else.

            Stan was drenched in head to toe black. Over his pants and long sleeved shirt, he wore a poncho-like shawl. It was draped in such a way that I had a hard time finding his hands. His arms must have been crossed in the fabric there somewhere. It was hard to tell where one fabric stopped and there the next started. If he wasn’t so sure of himself, and…well, who he was, I would have seen him as an unintentional goth king.

            Stan's assistant Kyle noticed us approaching first and tapped his boss's shoulder, who had still been talking to Eric. He turned almost instantly and took notice of us. Despite his infamous cynical and snide attitude (towards me in particular), he recognized me instantly and offered a hand out to me.

            "Craig Tucker. Good to see you again," he said as the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a smirk, and it definitely wasn't a smile, but it was...something.

            "Likewise," I said with a nod. "And you, Mr...Cartman." All that kept me from greeting him more harshly was the fact that he could destroy my entire career with the snap of his fingers, but I truly detest the man.

            "A pleasure," Eric replied with a too-big smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sinister or genuine.

            With that over with, they turned almost instantly to Kenny and I knew that, although they didn't recognize him, they were trying to. Like royalty, they were expected to know their subjects. Unfortunately for them, they didn't realize that Kenny was a foreigner in their kingdom. I could see Stan's pupils dilate and his lips pursed slightly. He was getting upset that he couldn't recall this face and he felt as though he was being made a fool of. This was a face I had seen before. It was a face we all had seen before. He always displayed it at shows he was particularly unimpressed with. People took notice of this deadly expression. Photographers watched Stan alone during a fashion show. The success of a show was often determined solely on Stan’s facial expression, assuming he was present. There was actually a lot he was unimpressed with, but he was not used to one of those things being his own incompetence.

            Just in time, Butters stepped forward, brushing floppy blonde hair behind his ear. "And you're Ken-Kenny, Mr. Tucker's newest model, correct?"

            "Model  _and_  boyfriend," Kyle said quietly. I couldn't tell if that was meant to be a snotty remark, or just a reminder for everyone. Either way, Stan's expression seemed to be returning to normal and Eric's large shoulders relaxed. There was a reason I had had Kenny study the binder so closely. Everybody knew everybody, and if you fucked up and missed a name drop or couldn't recognize someone, your validation instantly fell. Kyle and Butters must have studied just as extensively, and to be able to recognize Kenny, they had to have double checked with everyone to see if there was going to be any unexpected company. They had to have talked to Nicole and Heidi, which was wise of them seeing as those two always somehow knew everything about everybody. They had to know even more, probably, seeing as Eric and Stan were at the top. If they didn't know someone, it reflected  _really_ badly on them and therefore needed the assistants to back them up.

            I talked to Stan and Eric briefly about the upcoming week and the shows and what they were expecting from everybody. They had bets going on over Wendy and Red and who would have a better showing (Stan's money was on Wendy, showing up with flawless and beautiful craftsmanship, whereas Eric was sure Red would steal the show with a completely new angle).  I told them briefly about my collections I was showing - two men's and a woman's, which I didn't normally do, and Eric at the very least seemed eager to see them all – although, again, I can’t tell for shit when it is he’s being genuine. I was eager for him to see them, too, anyway. If I got a feature in his magazine, I would more or less be set, career-wise, for a satisfyingly long period of time.

            Throughout our conversation, Kenny continued chatting with the assistants, as I had supposed would be the case. They seemed to be talking very animatedly about... _something_ , but it was good to see he was hitting it off with them either way. Personally, I had expected him to be a little annoyed about having to be in that circle, but judging from his expression, he really didn't mind.

            I nodded off to Stan and Eric who, of course, had to greet other subjects of theirs, but I left Kenny talking to Kyle and Butters. I caught my escort's eye and he gave me a nod, so I let him be for a moment's time, while his new found friends did not have to be at their boss' sides.

            I was interested to just watch those three for a while. Now and then, Kyle would start to rise up on his toes and his eyes would grow wider in his passionate style, and I could tell from his face that Kenny was making sarcastic remarks. I had only known him for a few days, really, but I had been around him long enough to know those remarks and facial expressions. I mean, they were pretty common with him to be fair.

            At first I was worried that he and Kyle would not get along at all. Kyle is a fairly logical and methodical person, but overwhelmingly passionate and capable of going on epic rants. Kenny, on the other hand, was…Kenny, and if anything, fairly short spoken. It all seemed to be okay though. The conversation  _was_  passionate, I could tell, but they seemed to be getting along none the less. Now and again, when Kyle would rise too far up onto his toes, Butters grabbed at his shoulder or hand and pulled him back down, and the conversation would take its natural course again. Still, I was only too curious to know what it was they were talking about. Whatever it was, it definitely did not look like fashion. It was so funny to me that the three of them could hit it off so quickly and get so enraptured in a conversation that seemed to have very little to do with the industry.

            I watched them until Wendy showed up to greet her friends, and Kenny shook her hand as well. I made a mental note to ask him about meeting her, as well as what he spoke to the assistants about, but until then, I turned away to mingle further. Spotting Red and Bebe again, I headed towards them in hopes that I could kill two birds with one stone, in making my rounds and in finding my other models who were supposed to be here now.

            "Craig! My man!" Red quite literally flung herself towards me. Don't ask me how we become so close, but in all honesty, she was one of my closer friends in the fashion circle. During one of my first fashion weeks she just spotted me, claiming to be a great fan of my work (both men's  _and_ women's lines) and she determined that we would take over the entire industry because we had the best bitch faces, and that gave us priority or something silly like that. I don't know. I think our friendship works though. She's so extreme and brash, and it really clashes with a lot of people. I image she might argue easily with Kenny, and she often clashed with Heidi, which was always crazy to me since Heidi just seemed to get along with everyone, but I really had no problem with her. Maybe because she had decided so far ahead of time that we were destined to be best bitches.

             We're adults, I swear.

            I greeted her with a warm hug, as well as Bebe, who, unlike her girlfriend, got along with  _everybody_. Even the models I was looking for admitted that, if they were to go for a girl, she would be ideal. I mean not that they ever would, because of the gay thing. And the Bebe-would-beat-their-asses thing. But, like, hypothetically.

            "So, we hear you got a new boo," Red said with a wink. Bebe seemed like she wanted to nudge Red, as she did normally when the designer went too far with a comment, but she suppressed herself and actually giggled a bit. I turned my head to where I had left Kenny, and he was still chatting animatedly with the interns. Wendy still lingered there as well, and had a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. My curiosity over their conversation rose and I decided for sure to question Kenny about it in the hotel room later.

            I turned back to the girls. "Mm, yeah...about that, actually...have you two seen Clyde and Token anywhere? They told me they were coming over. I have some things to go over with them concerning the show."

            "Oh, right, your new boyfriend...he's one of your models, too, right?" Bebe asked with a head tilt. Seriously, news got around  _fast_. Although, to be honest, I was not in the least bit fazed by that, either. Even if Kenny  _wasn't_ my...um..."boyfriend," they all would have heard about my new model in no time. New meat was generally taken very seriously in the circuit. I mean, when Kyle and Butters were hired at about the same time, everyone went  _nuts_  and all eyes were on them. I suppose that's a bit of a different circumstance, and I'm obviously not as big of a deal as either of their bosses, but a new model is a new model is a new model. Adding a relationship to the mix just makes it more fun. I figure by doing this, I'm also adding some real entertainment to fashion week. We need something to talk about other than hemlines and fabric choices now and then.

            "He is...," I replied to Bebe finally. "Which is why I need my boys. I need them to give him the run down on everything. We haven't exactly gone through the show altogether. As it is, Kenny’s a little new to the catwalk side of things. He's mostly done photography."

            "I saw them in the hall when I went to the powder room," Bebe said. She was quite close to the two - Red and Clyde were cousins, actually. Red's the one who got Clyde in the industry, where we eventually met. By the time he got to me, he had already met Token through modeling, and when I hired Clyde, he insisted Token be hired as well. The rest is history. Those two have been my models longer than any others I've had.

            "I don't know what the hell they were doing, playing patty-cake or something, God knows with them, but they said they were heading in before the food would be served...Oh. There they are now."

            I turned to look in the direction of the door where the models walked in. "Perfect. Well, I'm going to go grab them, and I'll catch up with you guys later, yeah?"

            Red grabbed me by the shoulder and ruffled my hair, which she did often, and it made me glad that my hair was short enough that it hardly made a difference. "See you 'round, bitch friend," she said in her teasing voice. Bebe giggled and waved a hand towards me and I went to the door.

            "Craig!" Clyde waved to me from the door before I could even tell him anything. He and Token were matching - the same black slacks, white shirts, and blue ties. They often matched, I don't know, it was like their thing. They were the fab duo. That's just how it was. It was funny though, with them looking so genetically different, I mean it was _literally_ black and white. I loved it though, and they made the perfect pair. Something about their differences balanced nicely, but when they were together and on the catwalk, it gave my shows a diversity that still flowed really well.

            I hugged my boys, having not seen them for some time. We had had a lot of down time before Fashion Week in order for me to get everything prepared and organized and they had gone on vacation in the meantime. This was our first time meeting up since then. Despite the fact that they were employees, I can probably say in all honesty that they were the closest I had to real best friends.

            "I hate to bring business up so quickly, guys, but we can catch up in a bit, and you know I'm dying to hear all about the vacation. I just had something come up last minute, and I have a  _little_  extra work for you guys."

            "The new meat?" Clyde asked, flashing a smile.

            "What? Um, yeah, actually, it has to do with that."

            "We heard from Red," Token explained.

            "Right, right, of course," I replied. Set my surprise meter to negative fifty. I assumed they knew about the whole boyfriend thing, too, or whatever. You'd think I'd at least be the one to tell them first, but Lord, this industry is worse than high school, I swear.

            "So how'd you two meet?" Clyde taunted. Yes, they definitely knew.

            "Erm...we'll talk about that in a more private setting," I replied, even though no one was around. Really, I just needed to think of a meeting story that didn't start in a cheap-ass strip club. "Just come with me."

            They followed me, still fairly excited about meeting Kenny it seemed, to the group he was still talking with.

            "Excuse me, guys, would you mind if I stole Kenny for a moment?"

            "Oh! No problem!" Butters said as Kenny looked up to me, and I could see his eyes follow to the models behind me.

            "I'll catch up with you guys later on," Kenny said with a nod. "Nice to meet you!"

            He waved to them and followed us back to the corner of the room I had just been  in.

            "You all seemed to hit it off pretty well," I spoke lowly to him. He shrugged.       

            "Yeah, well, they had interesting stuff to say, I suppose. They know a lot."

            "About...?"

            He just shrugged again. I guessed he would tell me later, then. It seemed more like it was too much to tell me at that moment than the simple fact that he didn't  _want_ to tell me.

            "So, guys, this is Kenny. Other than the fact that we are currently dating, he  _is_  a new model in the lineup, as you already know."

            The boys each shook hands with Kenny, and he seemed fairly pleased to meet them as well. I had a strong feeling that they were going to get along well, also.

            "Now, Kenny is not totally new to the industry. He's done work, but he hasn't cat walked very often, and obviously has never cat walked for me." At this, Clyde whistled low, but I continued. "He's had experience in various fields. It's just this particular kind of modeling he's new with. So what I need you to do, since you'll have a bit of free time between shows, is just help him get the hang of walking counts and rotations and everything. Shouldn't be too hard. He's pretty much a natural in every other way. Just make sure he knows when to come out, when to turn...Well, you both know better than I do."

            Token nodded, seemingly quite happy and willing to take on the task. Clyde looked up to him and back to Kenny and then shook his hand firmly. "We're going to have a fantastic time together," he said with a wink.

            A wink. A fucking wink.

            Well, shit.

 


	5. 5

**Kenny POV**

               Alright, I have to say, so far, this gig isn't as bad as I was thinking it was going to be. Of course, at the time of the brunch we went to, I had done nothing related to modeling yet whatsoever, but as time went on there, I started to learn that everyone was extremely intertwined. I mean, even more so than I had started to believe when Craig walked me through the binder. The crossing over relationships...I mean, damn, it was like high school again.

            And I love it. I love knowing people and how they're related and who thinks what of who and why. Maybe I'm not the most  _personal_  of guys, but I do like peoples' personal relationships with one another. It’s like…grossly fascinating.

            So after all, it turns out that the modeling and fashion industry is way more incestuous and gossipy that the adult entertainment industry. I mean...who knew? So  _that_ whole side of the deal was going pretty great.

            The  _escort_ side of my job...well, let's just say that  _that_  one is fucking me over a bit. See, I'm trying to be strictly business here. I'm playing with the big boys. I'm getting paid like a real motherfucking professional here.

            That being said, I can't exactly stay professional if I'm popping a boner every time my benefactor  _breaths_. I mean, it's not my fault, okay? An extremely attractive wealthy man buys me shit and has me in his hotel at nights...my body is expecting things to take their natural course. And yet there I am, sleeping on the sofa like a loser house guest. He told me it would be fine to sleep with him in the bed, just being civil man that he is, and I turned him down because I didn't think I could keep myself together. Turns out I couldn't either way. I had to get dressed behind the locked bathroom door. He probably thinks I'm just being a freak. Or a tease. Or a prude, which would be _really_ ironic. I don't know. Well, hate to break it to you, Mr. Tucker, but I'm just hiding bodily functions. Because I'm a  _professional._  But I'll be damned if he doesn't catch an eyeful every now and then. He seemed so insistent about me sleeping in the bed with him but...I don't know, one of us probably wouldn't have been able to control ourselves, it probably would have been me, and he would have given in, and that probably would have made him wake up feeling guilty, and then he would have probably tried to pay me more, and  _that_  would have been bad, because suddenly escort Kenny would have become prostitute Kenny. _Or,_ maybe he’s panic and fire me (he seems like the type), and then I’d just be broke-and-stuck-in-New-York Kenny.

            But...what if it  _wasn't_  escort Kenny, like...sleeping with him? What if it was real, lives in a shitty house, babysits his sibling, eats cereal for dinner, cheap stripper Kenny? What if it was the real me instead of the hired me? What if we could differentiate?

            Well, then, that would be a different matter, wouldn't it?  But you see, I can't imagine how that could happen. Because how often does Craig even see  _me_? Hardly ever, really. Outside, I'm always escort-model-Kenny. Even if I tried to be completely my own self, he would assume I was faking it. And behind closed doors, I have to distance myself to hide m  twelve-year-old girl pink cheeks and my sixteen-year-old boy boners. Besides that, we're only really in the hotel in the early morning when I could kill a man before my coffee, and late at night when we're both reeling and tired from a long day at work. Unfortunately, I spend 24 hours a day with the real Craig, but he spends maybe 5 with the real Kenny. At least, that he's aware of. Like I said, I could totally be myself out there, and he would see it as part of an act. I don't know, maybe it's better for both of us that he doesn't have to be around the "real me," but that also significantly lowers the chances of him sleeping with me and  _not_  feeling like he has to give me a tip after it's all said and done. I mean, not that those are my  _only_  intentions. Maybe a legit date would be cool too, I don't know. An honest to goodness boyfriend wouldn't be too awful of an idea. And I'm not just saying that because the prospect could easily be a really awesome sugar daddy. Not that he kind of isn't being one already. I am technically  _working_  for the money, but come on - how hard is this all  _really?_ _He’s practically paying me to take his money._

            So that's the real struggle with this job, honestly. Like I said though, the whole inner workings part is extremely interesting. It's both getting my mind off of things,  _and_  giving me ideas as to how to work with my problem.

            You see, before walking into brunch, I was in a piss poor mood. It was no one's fault, really. Not Craig's, not the doorman's...that's just how I am before 11 am every day, coffee in my system or not. I don't wanna go anywhere or see anyone before 11. One good reason I have such a night job. Passion Pit doesn't even  _consider_  opening its doors before 9 pm. But let me tell you, I walked into that room filled with fashion designers and models and perked up  _instantly_. Have you ever had that feeling when you walk onto a high school campus, and you can just, like,  _feel_  the drama and the gossip and the sexual tension everywhere? And it's like, ten times better because you aren't necessarily involved but get to take part anyway? It was like that, but amplified. I know that would make some people want to run for the hills, but God, I ate it up. Call me the ultimate wallflower, fly on the wall, people watcher, whatever you will. This kind of thing gives me life. I can see peoples' relationships with each other by the way they talk or interact or look at each other from across a room. I can seek this stuff out like a shark can with blood - a single drop in an ocean, yards away.

            That being said, I thought I was the only shark in the room. Everyone else was a swimmer. Each one left a little droplet of blood for me to sniff out - their secrets and personal relationships. And they're tiny droplets. Swimmers don't always notice those tiny droplets. They don't see them, or I suppose smell them in the case of this metaphor. No one does but the shark. All these people had dirt on each other, secrets, hidden affairs that no one else was supposed to know about. And no one could tell except for the shark. This girl didn't know that this man was talking behind her back. But he was. I could see it. This man thinks no one knows that, two nights ago, he had sex with  _that_  man sitting next to him. But I know. And I walked into that room, an ocean full of seemingly innocent swimmers, unaware of the shark that was watching them bleed with every false smile and whispered rumor.

             And I thought I was the only shark in the room. I had no  _real_  secrets, other than the fact that I didn't belong there, but that was Craig's secret more than mine really. I couldn't detect that anyone else was kind of on the outside looking eagerly in, like I was.

            But I was mistaken. There were two other sharks in the room that I didn't notice right away. Shame on me. In my defense, they had been quite hidden in the corner.

            You see, Kyle and Butters were in the same boat as me, so to speak. Of course, they had their secrets as well, because who doesn't, but they were still like me -  _technically_ in the industry, but not participating the same way the big time designers and models were. If anything, the two were glorified coffee boys. Because of this, they were given free rein to spy and speculate on everyone's lives from the best seat in the house without having to get  _too_  involved and in the spotlight. It was fantastic. They were a gold mine of information. Therefore, I was perfectly content to stick to them while Craig went off and did his own thing. I mean, it made me look like I was in my part well enough, didn't it? Like Craig had said, if this was  _really_  who I was, Kyle and Butters would be the ones I would hang around the most anyway. It was perfect.

            In the time I was with them, the assistants gave me the lowdown on everyone and everything they knew. They could tell I was eating it up, too. It was like they had been dying to let all this out, and finally they had me. What made it even better was that they were especially close with their bosses, obviously, as well as that one designer, Wendy, who had been raised with Kyle and Stan – I mean, not literally, but I guess they grew up pretty close anyway. Thanks to their connections, they knew _all kinds_  of stuff. It was fascinating. Even based on what they told me, I could tell who had slept with who. That one's a special gift. Like a parlor trick. It's like a perk of being in adult entertainment, being able to tell who'd done the do with who. I don't think those two could have done that, and it gave me a strange feeling of pride.

            Just because he was kind of one of those guys that were easy to fuck with and because I had this kind of special sense, I asked Kyle offhand how the great designer Stan was in bed.

            "Fuck off," he sneered at me, but he still turned red. As did Butters. Great, so I was right - not just about Kyle and Stan, but about the fact that Butters didn't know. And he seemed almost bothered by it. In that instant, I deduced that the assistants had probably slept with each other as well, but I didn't bring that one up. For good measure, Kyle added an extra "fuck you." Whatever, he was still a pretty cool dude. Just easy to get riled up. I had those kind of friends in high school - the kind that you can't remember how you became friends with them (or stayed friends with them for that matter), but you stick around them anyway. I dunno, they're kinda great in their own way. Especially when they come with someone who's prepared to keep them in check, like Butters – even if it is because he’s a little more innocent that.

            All things considered, I should have expected the next part of the conversation.

            "Well, what about Craig Tucker?" Kyle asked cheekily. He was obviously trying to divert the attention away from himself, but he and Butters were both definitely still interested for the sake of their own curiosity. "He never seems to have any long term boyfriends, and we can never tell who he's slept with, if he even  _has_ , so we never get to ask. At this point, he's kind of like an enigma. We never get to ask anyone about him."

            I shrugged. "Yeah, he's kind of like a hermit loser that way," I said jokingly, but lovingly. That's something a boyfriend would have said, right? Right. Yeah. Totally.

            "So we figured," Butters laughed.

            "You're avoiding the question though," Kyle said. He was serious. Determined, even. "How is he?"

            Well...fuck. That was a minor detail I had forgotten. While all these people were having secret sex, everyone assumed Craig and I were having not-secret sex. I guess that's kind of part of the relationship thing. God, we were one of the only couples in the room having sex that everyone knew about, and we weren't even  _actually_  having sex. Hey, not my fault. Entirely.

            I winked. "Who do you think I am? I don't kiss and tell."

            Kyle groaned, and I knew he would have kept on, but Wendy joined, and I was able to get off by meeting her rather than answering the question. I winked. I flashed a smile. I flirted. She was easy to flirt with actually, and she even reciprocated a little, and it was kind of great. It was great because we both knew we would never go for each other – it was so obvious, and she had such an effortlessly _cool_ attitude - but it also made me feel like I was  _in._

            And then Kyle and Butters saw what I was about and they teased us and I teased back and we had a very, um, flirtatious circle thing going on. It wasn't weird at all, to be honest. Really, we  _all_  knew that none of us would go for it. Well...okay, Butters and Kyle were  _totally_  flirting for real in their…honestly very unique way. They seemed to have an odd relationship with each other, actually. Best friends that occasionally sleep with each other when the bosses are too busy? Probably? That are also probably sleeping with their bosses, who might as well be sleeping with each other? Yeah, I don't know, my intuition isn't  _that_  good. But they seemed fine to let me in on their little flirting circle for a while.

            I looked back at Craig now and then. It was half to see if he needed me and half to see if he was looking in my direction. He usually was, even if he couldn't tell I was looking, and it was  _fantastic_. I could see an emotion in his eyes - an emotion that wasn't  _supposed_  to be there, but it was. Oh, it was. And he probably didn't even know it. But I know that emotion.

            Motherfuckin’ Craig Tucker was getting jealous.

            And like I said, it was fantastic. Why? Because why would anyone be jealous over their  _fake_  boyfriend? It just doesn't make sense, does it? In that moment of jealousy, Craig was looking at me as something other than an employee, and I think I definitely knew it before he did.

            So _of course_ I continued. I kept on gossiping with my new friends, but from then on, I wasn't shy about slipping in a touch or an innuendo here or there. It didn't matter if Craig couldn't hear me. The reactions and body language were enough. And I was having fun, and there was no true harm because I knew that they knew I was playing. And I was meant to be in a relationship anyway. God, it was so great.

            By the time Craig called me to him, I had successfully learned the hottest gossip on everyone in the room, made two new friends (three if you count Wendy, though I'm not so sure she would - she probably goes through the exact exchange we had with other models at least three times a day), and faux-flirted my way to making my employer jealous. I don't know about you, but I believe I was doing quite well at my job.

            When Craig came to retrieve me, I purposely held off on telling him anything I talked to the assistants about, despite his curiosity. It was great. If anything, my not telling him made him even more jealous. It was eating him alive and he didn't even know why.

            I was introduced to Clyde and Token then, and I'll be damned if they didn't give off the strongest "we're banging" vibe in the room. So strong, in fact, that I figured they were two that everyone knew about. I guess they were actually a thing. Oh, man, the incestuous gayness in the room was enough to make so ancient Greek god weep. I had a sudden craving for popcorn.

            So they were some of Craig's closest friends or best models or both or something. Supposed to teach me modeling or whatever. Not that I was especially looking forward to it in the first place, but the wink Clyde gave told me that they were going to make it a good time. Suddenly it was no longer an annoying job drawback. Instead, it became a game, getting to strut down a runway, showing off my assets, with New York's elite watching me, rather than South Park's sleazy night crowd. And these two, whom he considered his closest friends, were going to teach me? Not gunna lie, for some reason I imagined someone like Michael Caine coaching me...you know, like he coached Sandra Bullock in  _Miss Congeniality?_ That's the sort of image I had coming in.

            But Clyde and Token...they were pretty alright dudes. Not bad on the eyes (not that I was looking or anything, but fuck, they’re _models_ ), and while they weren't quite as gossipy as Kyle and Butters, and not as observant, they were definitely higher up on the unspoken  _cool_  caste system, definitely more in the inner circle (for real, not just because their boss was a somebody), and definitely knew more about Craig Tucker than anyone else there. I took the wink as an invitation, almost. That night was meant to be our first runway lesson, and I have to say, I was actually feeling kind of excited about it.

**oOo**

            The rest of the weekend was completely filled up with training. I mean, I guess I would complain under any other circumstance, but if I wasn't training, what else would I be doing? Lounging around the hotel room with Craig? Not that I'm not enjoying his company more and more, but that's just the thing - I'm enjoying his company more and more. And the more we're stuck in that room alone together, the more I'm going to be getting urges, and then I'll end up acting on those urges, and fuck...he's just going to think I want more money. Although he should know that wouldn't be the case, since I had told him I have standards and what not, and as it is, he's already spent a fuckton of money on me...but whatever. I'll figure out a way around that. Something tells me that my "way around that," though, is that I'm just going to snap. But if I'm going to snap, I'd like to at least wait until after our first weekend together. I mean Christ, the shows haven't even started yet.

            So the training was good. I was spending all of my time with Craig, but  _we_  were spending all of our time with Clyde and Token. They knew the part about me not being an "experienced" model, but that's all of the charade they knew. Even in private, Craig and I were a couple to them and they thought I had done previous modeling. Well...I was kind of modeling my body for my last job, was I not?

            We had our lunches and dinners together, and I was on the catwalk every moment in between, except for at nights to go back to the hotel and sleep. Saturday night was no big deal going back to the room, really. I still changed in the bathroom, whatever Craig thought about that. He never  _said_  anything about it, but he had started doing it as well. I was a little disappointed, but at the same time, not seeing his body helped with the problem in my own pants. I mean, as it was, those reading glasses he wore seemed to affect me just as much as I guessed watching him dress might. I was tired enough, though, that I just flopped onto my couch and was able to make small talk with him before sleeping without having to look directly at him, laid out on the bed...

               I'll work on this, I promise. I'll do something about it. But now is not the time for snapping. That waits until  _at least_  after I know how to be a proper model. Or at least a somewhat proper model.

            But really, hanging out and working with Token and Clyde is great. They're really funny and genuinely good people, and they incidentally have  _a lot_  of stories to tell about Craig. They had him red and swatting at them numerous times, and I just sat and laughed. I almost felt like a real boyfriend a few times, when Craig held my hand for _aesthetic's_ sake, and Clyde and Token embarrassed him like a mother bringing out the baby pictures. I guess it was when we were with them that it really hit me that I wouldn't mind being with Craig for real. Even the pretend feeling was pretty nice.

            It made me want to do well in the training. Imagine that. I'm turning soft or something. Rich bastard's got me manipulated and he doesn't even know it. Although based on his jealous look from the brunch, I guess I have him secretly manipulated as well.

            So practice itself was going pretty well. They took turns showing me how to walk - just walk. Turns out there's a specific way you're supposed to do it. You can't just like... _walk_. You have to strut. Really strut and exaggerate it. It feels really ridiculous, to be honest, but at the same time, kind of great. One foot in front of the other. You would think that's how we walk normally, but I don't know, I guess your average dude doesn't? After trying it out, I realized that walking one foot  _literally_  in front of the other feels a lot less natural than it sounds. They told me it's a pretty feminine thing, and to watch women walk, because I guess a lot of women  _do_  walk that way naturally. Weird. It kind of makes your hips rock in a certain way. Despite its strange feeling, almost like holding something with the wrong hand, I liked it. They had me walk up and down, one foot in front of the other, until it almost developed into my habitual style of walking. Oops.

            And then, just when I thought the rock of my hips wasn't going to get any more feminine, Token left to retrieve something from behind the curtain at the end of our practice catwalk.

            "Where'd he go?" I asked Clyde, and then turned to Craig, who stood at ground level, watching us. Craig shrugged.

            "He's getting a tool," Clyde responded. He crossed his muscular arms.

            "A...tool?"

            "Well,  _tools_. Plural."

            "I need  _tools_  to walk?"

            "Mm."

            Before I could respond in confusion further, Token emerged, holding two red -

            "Oh, fuck no."

             Token tossed the heels at my feet.

             "Go on," he prompted with a smile.

            "Do I  _have_ to?"

            They nodded almost simultaneously. I heard a light snort and I turned down to look at Craig. He was composed, but only barely. I thought a man of the fashion world would be able to keep himself together for this, but obviously not.

            "If you can walk perfectly in heels down a runway, you can walk perfectly without them," Clyde said seriously.

            "But...I just walked perfectly up and down this runway one hundred times!"

            Token shrugged. "It can always be better. And if you can be that good in heels, no one will ever know that you haven't done runway for years."          

            I had to admit, the idea wasn't bad, but I groaned anyway. "Did they really have to be red though? Couldn't we have done something more subtle...like black?"

            "Not like anyone's watching or anything," Clyde said. I glared down at Craig who was stifling himself once again.

            "Besides,  _red_  heels give you an extra surge of power," Token said. "Trust me."

            The man said it like he cleaned house in red heels. Actually, he probably does, so more power to him. I shrugged as I put the shoes on.

            It actually wasn't my first time putting on heels.

            So I can't say I was  _that_  much more experienced, really. I had them on once for a costume party, and I didn't even wear them the whole night - just for pictures. So walking, and walking perfectly, and walking perfectly like a model down a runway was still going to be a challenge.

            I'll be damned if it didn't take me forever. It took an hour at least just to find my footing. Another hour to relearn how to put one foot in front of the other again. Craig had finally ceased laughing at me and now cringed in pain and sympathy, like  _he_  was the one forming blisters and not me.

            I never fell, but I wobbled an embarrassing amount of times, and I praised everything I knew how to praise that I didn't have to wear heels in any actual shows. I also thanked my past self for choosing the stripper track of night life rather than the drag queen track, because I would like to never wear heels again, thank you very much. After our first night, I gratefully tore them off and tossed them back at Token's feet.

            "Tomorrow we can meet again," Cragi said, rubbing at his eyelids. That would be, what, Sunday? "We can just go through this all again, but I'll bring some of the clothes for a test run. I can bring what you two will be wearing as well, if you want to do a sort of dress rehearsal thing and let him see how it all pans out. Poses and everything."

            He had that kind of sleepy voice that one gets at the end of the day, which was funny, since he had been the one doing all the sitting and critiquing. It wasn't until I asked if I had to wear the heels the next day that I realized my own voice was even worse. I had to struggle not to slur - it was already past 11 pm. Luckily for me though, the answer was no on the heels. Thank God. Since we were doing a more dress rehearsal style, they all wanted it as close to the real thing as possible. Besides, they said I had gotten decent enough with the shoes that walking flatfooted would be a breeze. Like sticking a weight on a baseball bat and swinging with it before taking it off to bat for real...makes it seem like cake. Don't get me wrong, the hip movement that came with the heels was cool and all, but not worth it. I wanted nothing more than a good foot rub, honestly.

            "See you tomorrow then, boys," Craig waved, groggily. I waved back as well as I followed him outside to wave down a taxi. And like I said, being alone in the room that night was hardly a problem at all. We were both so exhausted that we barely got to chatting about the food we ate that day before drifting off against our wills.

**oOo**

            Our Sunday training was considerably easier - no heels, of course. But damn, getting up was a struggle. Standing, I mean.

            I rolled off of my sofa and stood, my knees buckling slightly. The ache wasn't  _that_  bad, but I was more surprised than anything. I had expected my feet to be sore -  and they were! But I felt as though I had developed the calves of a champion overnight as well. I rubbed at them, listening to Craig laughing at me from the bed.

            "Oh, shut up," I jeered at him. I didn't need him to remind me how much I was being paid. I had made a huge fuss about it , but really, I would have worn heels all week for the pay I got and for the time I got to spend with Craig.

            I think...

            I think I'm falling for the rich bastard.

            Stripper Kenny is, I mean. Not escort-fake-boyfriend Kenny.

            Ah, hell, what am I saying? I'm both Kennys. Both Kennys are me. And it's barely been four days, and I have a loser crush on my boss. What the fuck, man.

            I discovered that Craig was already dressed, sitting on his bed, when I recovered and was standing firmly on two feet.

            "Did I...did I sleep in?" I asked, confused.

            "Nah, I had to get up early to pack." He gestured towards a large suitcase of his, propped against the bed. "Clothing samples for practice today."

            Right. Dress rehearsal.

            It occurred to me that I hadn't asked what kind of clothes I would be wearing. For all I knew, Craig could be having me model briefs. Not that I would have minded that necessarily. More than I wear on a normal day of work, anyway. But warning would have been nice. I decided, as I poured myself a paper cup of coffee to go, that I would wait to be surprised.

            Mornings were getting easier for me, I noticed. It was only my third morning spent with Craig so far, but it was the first that I was able to make civil, intelligible conversation with him. He seemed to be put in a good mood by it. I mean, he wasn't much of a morning person either, but it was more of in the normal kind of way. Not the murderous McCormick kind of way.

            "How you feeling?" he asked on the way to the building where our practice runway was located. It was a question directed to the real me, and since those were few and far between, I decided to answer properly, as opposed to with a shrug.

            "Mm, pretty great actually, if you don't consider the fire blazing in my heels."

            "That you'll get used to," he replied, as if he wore heels frequently and was used to it himself. It almost sounded cold, but he turned to me and flashed a warm smile.

             I chuckled at him, legitimately, biting at my lip ring. It was habit, of course, and I was doing it more, I noticed, when I had it in, since I had been taking it out in public more often to look a little more put together. I had it out for the brunch, as well as when we went out with Clyde and Token in public to eat - places we'd be recognized. Criag made it clear that he wanted me to wear it for the show - something about wanting to the collection to have a more 'alternative feel' - but other than that, I was wearing it a lot less. So I bit it a lot more. I was under the possibly false impression that it looked sexy. Maybe I'd seduce him. I'm terrible, I know.

            "And how do you know that? You make a habit of wearing women's shoes, and you know the turmoil that comes with them?"

            He shrugged with a sheepish smile. "You do crazy stuff for fashion."

            I snorted. "Why am I not surprised..."

            He looked at me, almost like he was offended, but I smiled to let him know I meant no harm, and he returned the gesture. It felt comforting that the coldness that had been between us was melting away and had probably originated from us being intimate co-workers and strangers at the same time. At least now we could consider our real selves friends.

            "But no, really? How are you? Like, with the whole job thing? Still on board?"

            "What? Oh, hell yeah, totally."

            "Really? Because you can back out at any time if you aren't feeling it. You've had a taste of the people and kind of a taste for the modeling. If you've changed your mind, we can stage a tragic breakup and I'll buy you an early plane ticket home and -"

            "Craig."

            "Hm?"

            "It's great. It's fine. I love it, honestly. I love the people, I love the work, I love New York, I love playing your boyfriend. It's all great, and it's all fun, and I can't say the money hurts either, honestly. Even wearing stupid red heels is great. It's a hell of a lot better than dancing for drunk old bears on Tequila Tuesday, as much as I  _love_  doing that as well."

            Craig raised his eyebrows at me. "Really?"

            "Yes, really, what? You think I'm lying? This is a great gig. Think about all the guys and girls that would kill for this kind of job."

            "I'm that great though? You love playing my boyfriend?"

             _Yes, Craig, almost as much as I'm sure I'd love being your boyfriend for real. Fuck._ "Hey, now, don't flatter yourself," I laughed. "But I mean, yeah, why not? Young, rich, famous Craig Tucker from my very own bullshit, redneck, South Park. And you  _are_  attractive, too, you know. It's not like I was stuck posing with like, Steve Buscemi. That's half the reason I felt fine with accepting your offer. You make me look good."

            I winked playfully at him, and I thought I saw him turn pink. The best part was that he heard all of that coming from the real me.

            "Well, um, that's great, then," he said as we pulled up to our practice space. He tipped our driver as we stepped out. "I'm, uh, glad that you're good with all this."

            We were back into couple mode once we were on the sidewalk, and I squeezed his shoulder. I wasn't sure which kenny the gesture was from, but it didn't matter. In public, all of my actions were from escort Kenny by default for Craig. "More than happy to do it," I assured him, and I hoped that what he thought was my fake warmth would translate over more into our private life.

            Clyde and Token were already there waiting for us, as I expected they would be, and Craig wheeled his  suitcase in so that we could get started straight away. He brought along only one outfit each for them, probably just for show since they had been walking in his clothes for years. For me, he brought three outfits. None of them were underwear, and I may or may not have been slightly disappointed about that.

            "They'll fit?" I whispered, as the other two were off changing. They, of course, weren't supposed to know that I was a  _last second_  model for Craig.

            "I'm sure they will," he replied. "You're _almost_ the same height and build as me, and, except for Clyde and Token, the other models are close to the same build as we are. I may have to alter a sleeve here or there, but yeah, you'll be fine. When I was looking for escorts, I kept all of that in mind for this very reason."

            The clothes weren't bad at all, actually. Definitely not stuff I minded getting to keep. It was like...the alternative gentlemen, or maybe classy hipster, if either of those things existed. If not, Craig had just invented them. And ultimate combination of being put together and carefully styled while looking laid back and care-free at the same time. Like _trying_  to look like you didn't try at all. It was pretty fabulous. I understood getting to keep my lip ring and the kind of impression it would leave. Just the cherry on the cake of edginess. One outfit was made up of a button up shirt, vest, and sports jacket, but they were just the right amount of loose to look casual, and were paired with expensive but comfortable looking distressed jeans. The other outfits followed a similar pattern with various combinations of ties and scarves - none of them matched.

            And they did fit well. Craig said that he would have to hem the sleeves on one of the jackets, and the bottoms of one pair of pants, but that that was child's play. He said there were always last minute adjustments to be made at shows like that, and that I wouldn't have to worry about it.

            I was instructed to watch Clyde and Token do a few test walks, standing off the catwalk and next to Craig. Once they were in their element, they were like different people. I wondered if I transformed like that when I preformed on stage. They developed completely stoic expressions, that kind of generic model serious pout, and walked so  _effortlessly_. They didn't make it look boring. Token walked with a hand in a jacket pocket now and then, and they always did something when they reached the end of the walk.  

            "Watch their poses at the end," Craig whispered to me. "You always have stop and pose for a bit at the end. Make sure the crowd sees your clothes, let them photograph you, shift your hip or  _something_ , and then turn and go. You can mix it up or whatever you want."

            So I watched. Sometimes they didn't do anything - just a cool head tilt or hip shift, like Craig mentioned. Once or twice, when he wore an outfit with a jacket, Clyde would take it off and toss it over his shoulder. It looked cool, and Craig told me that it was a good way to show off the clothes, so I decided that I would try that a few times as well.

            We practiced for nearly as long as we had the day before, and they all informed me that using the heels had worked fairly well as a practice method because my steps had already improved significantly. I tried working on my bitch face, and I guess that went pretty well also, since they all commented that I definitely had the look down. As long as I kept up a varied repertoire of poses, they assured me that I would fit in perfectly well by the show in the middle of the week.

            "See you two tomorrow?" Craig asked the models when all was said and done at the end of the night. We had ended slightly early to get dinner together at a small cafe.

            "Of course, we'll be at some of the shows for sure," Clyde assured him. They were exclusively models for Craig, but they did enjoy going to all of the events anyway, even if they weren't totally involved.

            "No practice tomorrow, then?" Token asked.

            "No, we can take a break," Craig replied, and I was kind of relieved. "We'll probably go right back to the hotel after everything. We can all get together Tuesday though, and I'll see if I can get all of the models together for a final test before the shows on Wednesday and Thursday."

            They nodded and we waved goodbye to them as we got into our car. We made small talk on the way back to the hotel, and our chats were getting friendlier and friendlier, but we were again too tired to say anything really substantial. We talked about Clyde and Token and the other models, about the dinner we had just had and the clothes I had been fitted for and how I had liked them, and the shows that we would see the next morning on Monday, but when we got to the hotel room, we fell to our spots after cleaning up and fell asleep instantly.

 **oOo**  

            "What do you suggest I wear today?" I asked Craig as we got ready to head off to the first of the runway shows.

            "They aren't black tie events, but you have to look good. Wear one of the more fashionable things. Not  _too_  casual, like for the brunch."

            I ended up going with a dark purple sort of sweater - it was built like a turtleneck, but the collar was more like a slouchy cowl. I put a distressed leather brown jacket over it, put on tan corduroy pants, and added a purple scarf for good measure. If I wasn't mistaken, 90% of what I was wearing was Gucci.

            "How's this?" I asked. I held the scarf out and did a single turn.

            "Perfect. Couldn't have been better if I had dressed you myself."

            "Well...you kind of did."

            He smiled at me and got dressed. I noticed that he didn't bother going into the bathroom this time. Neither did I, but I had dressed when he was in the shower, so it didn't matter. I wondered about the sudden change, not that I minded. I just made sure to stick a hand in my pocket and adjust myself when he wasn't looking - I had kind of been rewarded with too good a view of his bare back, and something about the dark freckles ( _Freckles! On his back!_ ) on his sun-tinted shoulders really did me in. God, I'm pathetic.

            He wore a sweater - a grey one in a different style, though, while a collar that wrapped around itself and buttoned just off his shoulder. He wore a leather jacket as well, but black and not distressed, and paired with skinny black pants. We were dressed similarly, like we were from the same collection, but not identically, and when we stood next to each other looking in the mirror, I have to say, we looked  _good_. Not just individually, but as a pair. We looked like a good couple, and if anyone had doubted us being together before, no one would today with the way we looked standing next to each other. It almost looked like we had gone shopping together.

            We got out at the first show, which incidentally turned out to be Red's menswear for women. If the rumors we heard were true, there was supposed to be a little menswear for men mixed in as well.

            It was crowded, and if Craig wasn't holding my hand to put on a show, he was doing it so that we wouldn't get swallowed up by the crowd. We were able to sit close to the front with other designers and press and models, while general public was kept mostly roped off. It was probably one of the first times, if not the only time, I had ever had a true VIP experience.

            I spotted my new friends, Kyle and Butters, rather quickly in tow behind their bosses, who sat as close up as they possibly could. As Butters and Kyle were beside them, I found myself sitting right next to them as well, and Craig beside me. I half expected someone to come and tell me that I couldn't be seated up that close and that I would have to be moved elsewhere, but no one ever came. It was then that I realized that I, or at least the people I was seated with, were the utmost authority there. Everyone that had any real power to get me to leave were seated to my left and right.

            I spotted other designers and glitterati lining the edges of the catwalk as we were. Many I recognized from the brunch, including Bebe, the Victoria's Secret Angel. Of course she would be here as close as possible, as it was her girlfriend's collection that was being shown. She was seated with other unrealistically gorgeous women, whom I could only assume were fellow models. The flashes from paparazzi cameras made their hair shine and their eyes glow. I wondered if all of us looked that good in the spotlight. Looking around, I realized that, yeah, everyone did look pretty fucking perfect. It was weird, almost, kind of surreal. Attractive people in South Park are kind of hard to come by. There have only been two in South Park’s whole history – the first got the fuck out and became famous, and the second could only become the best stripper…I’m kidding. Well. No, I’m not, I guess. South Park is pretty bad. And in LA, on Rodeo, pretty people were a dime a dozen, but not really… _congregated_ like this. Here, in New York, in a roped off section of a fashion show, everyone was perfect and on point. And I wasn't an outsider.  _That_ was the crazy part. Hell, I was a model. I was the trophy boyfriend. I was supposed to be one of the better looking ones. I prayed that the camera flashes made my hair and eyes shine, too.

            I saw Token and Clyde come up to Craig, who sat on my right, and they each gave him a shoulder pat as they moved in to sit behind us. They greeted me as well, and I noticed that even they looked a little better than usual (which is really saying something when you're talking about models). Something about the atmosphere.

            I spent my time before the show started catching up with Kyle and Butters. Again, I didn't bother hiding my flirtatious act. It was almost better, actually, with Craig seated right beside me. Now that he was within earshot, I wondered if he would get jealous again, or if he would realize that I was just messing around. Since he hadn't said anything the first time, I determined that he hadn't come to terms with any feelings he had just yet. Fine for me. Made the game a little more fun to play, to be honest.

            During one conversation topic, I put my hand on Butters' leg, as he was sitting directly to my left, just to see what would happen. He didn't flinch back or anything - in fact, it didn't seem to faze him at all. I tested the levels of intensity of flirting I could get away with, as far as their reactions went,  _and_  Craig's reactions. Neither seemed affected in any way whatsoever. I was retreating back just enough for the interns to know that I wasn't being serious - I  _knew_  they knew. That's why they didn't do anything about it but laugh and play along. I also grabbed for Craig's hand now and then, or put a hand on  _his_  leg to let him know that escort Kenny had not yet forgotten about him. Although, throughout the whole waiting period, he was chatting with Clyde and Token. Whether or not he had even noticed my interactions with the interns was questionable.    

            All of that stopped when the house lights went down and the catwalk lights went up. I guess I had kind of expected it to happen that way, sort of like a movie theater. The crowd hushed, my hand found Craig's again, and our heads turned to the catwalk.

            I tried studying the models, the way they walked, and their poses, trying to pick up ideas for when it would be my turn. The rumors were true, it turned out, and the models were both male and female and everything in between. The style of clothing seemed mostly masculine, but overall fairly gender neutral. In my opinion, the entire thing seemed rather revolutionary and I, no doubt, would have worn every piece in the collection.

            I took my eyes off the stage now and then to glance down our row of seats to look at Stan. I was trying to determine his expression every time I looked, since Craig had told me that the reviews of shows so often depended on his and Eric's opinions of them. At least two cameras were focused on Stan’s face for the duration of the show. He never seemed truly disgusted with any one piece. He raised his eyebrows often and tilted his head now and then. I saw his mouth twitch into what I thought could become a smile once. He never pulled the 'you fucked up' Miranda Priestly pursing of the lips, so I figured by his standards, the show went off pretty well.

            When it was all over, Red herself came out, wearing a gentleman's waistcoat and trousers...although now that I say that, it feels strange. After watching that show, I have a terribly difficult time gendering clothing. Which was probably the point of it all - to break the mold. And Red did a rock solid job of it. She wore a waistcoat and trousers. Not for men or women. There, that sounds better. And just for that, I think Red's show deserves 5 stars. If that's a thing in the fashion world. Are designers rated on a star system, like restaurants and hotels? I don't know. Maybe they do it like movie reviews. Red's show gets 100% on Rotten Tomatoes.

            There were two more shows after Red's, by designers I had not been introduced to. They flowed into one another rather seamlessly, so the lights stayed the same. There wasn't even anymore time to talk in between shows. The next two weren't bad - one collection strictly for men and one for women. I mean, they couldn't have been  _bad_ , since we're kind of in the big leagues here, but they definitely were not as fantastic as  I thought Red's had been. Once or twice, I noticed Stan's face twist up, like he was actually being exposed to literal shit. I instantly felt bad for the designers.

            I kept Craig's hand in mine absentmindedly throughout the duration of the shows, our hands in my lap. I had almost forgotten all about my teasing, and "the game," and my shameless flirting. I had almost forgotten that our relationship wasn't real.

            We left the same way we came after saying goodbye to our friends sitting in our general vicinity. It wasn't really late, but it seemed like we weren't going to stick around and shoot the breeze with anyone either. Craig seemed in a hurry to get back to the hotel, and I assumed that he was hungry, so I let him lead me by my hand through the crowd again.

            Once we were in the car, though, he said nothing. No small talk. He didn't even look at me or ask what I thought of the show. He stared straight forward, hands in his own lap, eyebrows furrowed slightly. I couldn't read his expression, because honestly, I hadn't seen him use this expression yet. It could have been anything from confused, to angry, to upset, to scared. It certainly wasn't the perplexed jealous expression I had seen at brunch. Or maybe it was just  _really_  hungry...although if that was the only case, I was sure that he at least would have talked to me. I wondered if maybe he had talked to Clyde and Token about something upsetting, or if he had seen something that I had missed.

            Surely he wasn't speaking because whatever was on his mind was something he didn't want our driver hearing. That was alright, I guess. He had forbade me from certain topics while in the car and within earshot of our driver. I rested my chin in my hand as I leaned on the car door and stared out the window, hoping that he would open up when we reached the hotel.

 


	6. 6

               I said nothing until we were back into the hotel room. Blame my paranoia. I didn't want our driver hearing, the people on the street...even the receptionist at the front desk. I wasn't even going to bother risking giving Kenny a hint of what I had to say to him.

            He followed me back to the room, not making a sound either, following directly behind me like an obedient, albeit confused, puppy. He knew something was up, I could tell. I waited for him to follow me all the way into our room before I closed the door behind him and started in on what I had been keeping in for the too-long trek between Red's show and the Ritz.

            "Kenny, what the  _fuck_ was that?"

            His eyes widened instantly. Whatever he had been expecting from me, it clearly hadn't  _this_  intense in his mind.

            "What?" he asked with a slight bewilderment.

            "You couldn't have made your flirting with those assistants a  _little less obvious_?"

            His face softened then, almost turning into what looked like annoyance, as thought he couldn't believe that  _that's_  what I was making a fuss over.

            "Why?" he shrugged. "I can flirt with whoever I want."

            "You're  _supposed_ to be my boyfriend."

            "I'm your  _employee_. And you know it," he shot back without missing a beat. I winced for a moment before regaining my footing.

            "That's damn right. You  _are_  my employee. This week, I  _own_  you. We agreed to that. And out  _there_ , you're supposed to be my boyfriend."

            He laughed. I found no humor in the matter at all, but he was amused and somehow baffled as hell.

               "God  _damn_ , Craig. Get a clue. The only reason I can flirt and get away with it is because they wouldn't  _seriously_  go through with me. They obviously know I'm with you. And I mean, Jesus, they're all fucking each other already! The assistants fuck each other, their bosses probably fuck each other. I  _know_  the bosses have fucked the assitants. Hell, pretty sure the models are all fucking each other, too. And they wanna keep it all hush-hush, but I know. Oh, I  _know_. I'm a sex worker. I come with, like, a sixth-sex-sense. They're all fucking, and no one knows it. The only people they all  _actually believe_  are gettin' down and dirty - the only ones who  _should be doing it_  - are me and you, and we aren't."

            I was silent. Were...were they all really fucking each other? It couldn't be. But then again, it very well could be. I mean, well... now that Kenny had pointed it out, it was  _blatantly_ obvious. At the very least, I could now perfectly envision the sexual tension seeping from between those bosses.  And their interns sometimes seemed more like little pets than anything.

            But I wasn't spending too much time thinking about that, because Kenny had said that  _we_ were the only ones who  _should be_  having sex.

             So...was that coming from everyone else? Or was that his opinion? No. It  _had_  to be his opinion, because just before, he had said that everyone already believed we were doing it. So they wouldn't need to think that we  _should_ be doing it. Right?

            Kenny was tired of my thinking. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

            The pieces were falling into place. "You...were trying to make me jealous."

            "Bingo! The rich bastard's got it."

            "But...why? That makes no sense. You're already posing as my boyfriend. What's the point? You've got me."

            He grinned at me, in the same way he had laughed before. Amused and baffled. "You answered your own question. If I flirted directly with you, how would you know if I was doing it as my own normal self, Stripper Kenny, or hired Model Boyfriend Kenny? You wouldn't. You would never know my true intentions. But if I made you jealous by flirting with  _others_...now why would your perfect model boyfriend bother doing such a thing? No, no, that was all me, sweet cheeks."

            "And so...you think...we should be...,"

            "We should be."

            Before I could start to form a reply, or a real coherent thought for that matter, his lips were crushed against mine - so hard I thought they might bruise. I couldn't remember the last time I had been kissed like that. Hell...I couldn't remember the last time I had actually been kissed  _at all_.

            And damn, it felt good.

            "Mmph," I grunted against his mouth. He pulled back and looked legitimately concerned.

                "You...sure?" I asked. I mean, I had spent all this time shamelessly fantasizing over my escort that I had convinced myself that a fantasy was all that would happen for real between us. I always thought he was strictly business. I mean, he slept on the sofa. He changed in the bathroom, for God's sake! Clearly I had misinterpreted all of that, and made a point to question him on it later.

            He looked me up and down, before returning his eyes back to mine. There was a fire behind them.

            "Fuck yeah, I'm sure."

            "A-alright, then," I stuttered back. Not that I was shy or anything. I was just completely taken aback by everything. However, once his hand was back behind my head, pulling me back towards his hungry mouth, the demeanor melted away. So I had completely misjudged him and his intentions, and everyone else for that matter, and I guess I'm always doing that because I'm never  _around_  a lot of people and never observe anyone...but I'm certainly glad I was wrong.

            I had played this situation out before in my head - more than once, actually. Not that my feelings towards Kenny were purely lustful. Sure, they started that way (and I mean, we met in a strip club, so what else was my first impression going to be like), but he was seriously starting to get to me. It's hard when most of the time, he's being my escort, but I see the true him when he wakes up and he falls asleep, and I see that witty, bold personality that I had shopped with on Rodeo Drive shining through the model Kenny. He completely fascinates me.  _Enraptures_  me. Regardless of whether he's putting on a show for everyone or not. And he makes me wish that I had talked to him in South Park back then, and gotten to know him in a totally candid and personal way, and that I could have fallen in love with him conventionally, maybe over Tweek’s Coffee, rather than in the corner of our hotel room, so that he might have come to New York with me as my real, honest to goodness boyfriend, rather than glorified hired help. We're going about things a bit backwards here, but I'm not going to start complaining now.

            Kenny had been holding back just as much as I had, it seemed. I almost felt bad. I wondered if he would have brought something up sooner if money weren't involved. I knew I wouldn't be paying for anything that would be happening right then - I was clearly playing with the real Kenneth McCormick here.

            To make up for it, I let him continue with the control he had over me. His kissing had gotten so aggressive that I had been pushed against the end of the hotel bed. I was struggling to keep up with him, his tongue fucking my mouth with a raw kind of passion. He was definitely helping me make up for my long romantic hiatus, although I probably should have expected as much from a worker in his position. The way he had danced last week, there was no way he was going to be bad at something like this.   

            As the back of my knees hit the edge of the mattress, my legs buckled, forcing me into a sitting position. Kenny was hardly fazed by it at all and he climbed onto my lap without a second thought, a knee on either side of me on the mattress. He held my face gently but firmly as his tongue ran smoothly across the roof of my mouth, sending a chill up my spine. I couldn't bother hiding it, and I heard him snicker as he licked quickly over my bottom lip before diving deep back into the kiss. Wondering what I could do to return the favor, I pulled my mouth away from his. He pouted almost instantly, and it was probably involuntary, but I stopped him quickly. He had stuck out his bottom lip just slightly at me and it presented me with the perfect opportunity - I leaned forward and caught him with my teeth. He had left his lip ring in for Red's show, and I sucked at it gently as I had been eager to do ever since I noticed that he had it.

            I heard a low groan in his throat, and I couldn't tell if it was because of the work I was doing on his lip or because he was sitting on the ever hardening spot at my crotch. I hoped it was a combination of the two.

            He wrapped his arms around me for leverage and pulled himself harder onto my lap, legs wrapped around my waist now. With his crotch pressed up against where my navel was, he started tugging at the bottom of my sweater. I pulled my jacket off so that he could pull the sweater up and over and over my head, and in no time, he had taken off his as well. I could hardly remember a break in our kissing as we stripped. Someone's mouth and hands were always somewhere doing something. This was not patient, curious love-making. This was overdue and this was eager. The passion started off at full capacity. With a spot inside my pants damp with pre-cum, I wondered if we would even be able to make it to the actual sex.

            With our shirts off, Kenny pushed me all the way back onto the  bed, his knees still on either side of me - his mouth somehow managed not to leave mine on the way down.

            To be quite honest, in my fantasies, I  _had_  been a bit more...aggressive. I was starting to feel that our roles should be switched, and I had the perfect opportunity to slip out from under Kenny and into my rightful position.

            "Mm-mph, hold on," I mumbled against his lips. He pulled back only slightly, the metal of his ring still grazing my bottom lip. The coolness of it caused another slight twinge in my pants, and  _fuck_ , I was tempted to relinquish my dominance and just let him devour me then and there. But no, this was important.

            "What's up," he whispered, his warm breath mingling with mine. I slipped out from under him and crawled up the bed, over to the bedside table, and opened the drawer where the hotel Bibles were normally kept. I pulled out a little bottle that had a red bow around the lid and a condom. I didn't toss them to him, fully intending to use them myself, but he saw them nonetheless.

            "The fuck?" he asked, but a smile started to spread. "What, did you go shopping? Were you expecting this to happen or what? Did you bring them with you?"

            I was glad he was taking my surprise preparation with so much amusement. I grinned cheekily and shrugged. "They were a gift, actually. Clyde and Token slipped them to me as a congrats-on-a-real-relationship gift. I just stuffed them in there, but I figured I would keep them...aren't you glad I did?"

            He brought himself up onto his knees as he bit at his ring and chuckled almost darkly in agreement. It was kind of a growl, deep in his throat, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the sexiest sound I had ever heard.

            I pounced at him, my primal instincts triggered by his animalistic purrs, and tore at the button on his pants. I silently thanked Gucci for designing them with such a simple button - it's like the designers knew that the wearer of these pants would get laid.

            I pulled them down to his thighs and he shimmied them the rest of the way off for me. He seemed to be perfectly pleased with our switched positions, now that I hovered over him, now just inches about his face. I flicked my tongue inside his mouth twice, leaving by running across the roof of his mouth as he had down to me - I could see the blonde hair on his arms stand up and he slowly closed his eyes.

            I moved down to his bottom lip, giving his ring a final suck, and down to his jaw line. I noticed that he had the lightest freckle - beauty mark - just below his mouth on the right side. I gave it a kiss as well.

            I moved down, suckling gently at each spot I passed, careful not to leave marks where they would be visible during any shows. I licked tiny constellations down his neck, leaving a suck and a kiss for each collarbone.           

            I left a dark purple hickey just between his sternum and nipple. The harder I sucked at the pale skin, the higher he rose his hips in excitement. It was then that I learned just how much he enjoyed being the masochist, how well last week's stripping song fit, and how I was perfectly content with my place atop him, biting and sucking at one nipple and pinching at the other. I heard his breaths becoming shakier and he sucked at his own lip. I only noticed that the harder I went, the more excited he was, but he hardly spoke a word.

            Once I was sufficiently satisfied with the scatted purple spots across his chest, I continued my kissing trek along his body, remembering his tattoo when I reached his hem. The black petals of his rose laid gently on his hip bone, and the dark, thorny stem dipped down below the band of his purple boxers. I couldn't help running my thumb over the velvety petals, and had to kiss each of them, but I was desperately eager to see the rest of the stem. I ran my fingers past the seam, and Kenny eagerly assisted me in pulling the boxers off entirely. He had waited entirely too long, and he already had a small spot on them.

            He was honestly a bit longer than I had imagined - maybe it was a stripper's illusion, or I just hadn't seen a good dick in a while, but I was pleasantly surprised and almost a little thankful that I just had to worry about it going in my mouth.

            I took him in my right hand, getting a feel for him, and again, there was another twinge. He was getting restless as I used my thumb to rub clear pre-cum over the head of his cock. With my thumb still rubbing gently, I licked a spot of skin just inside his thigh and blew on it lightly. His goose bumps spread quickly from the chill and I used the distraction to deep throat him completely, using my special parlor trick to stop my gag reflex, until my lips brushed at flat skin.

            " _Fuck_ ," he whimpered satisfyingly. I wiped away a tear that had pooled thanks to my quick start, and looked up at Kenny's face without removing my mouth - his eyes were closed and the most delicious expression was set on his face. It only made me more eager to continue my work.

            I leaned down and took him again, not completely deep throating this time. I had found that the deep throat was something nice to start off with, and it did feel good, but a lot of it was just aesthetically pleasing. Instead, I only let myself go half way down, quickly, and then pulled back up at a tauntingly slow pace, getting tighter and tighter until I hit the spot just under the head. I could always tell when I got the sweet spot by the sharp intake of breath from Kenny - this time, I also received a sweet whine of pleasure. I repeated the exact motion three more times, each time eliciting the perfect moan. I quickened my pace each time, but paid the same amount of attention to the trigger spot.    

            After an especially spine-tingling moan, I pulled off, flicking my tongue across the head. Warm pre-cum was still seeping and I rubbed at it again.

            "N-no, Craig," he pleaded, "please, a little more." I smirked at him, savoring my name in his mouth, but did little else in response.

            "Please, God,  _please_ , just a little more, I'm so  _close_ ," he begged some more. I stared him in the eyes, maintaining my mischievous expression. He looked honestly desperate. If I didn't know him any better, I would have guessed he would have started crying, lying naked and vulnerable beneath me, wet cock still hard and expecting a climax that it wasn't getting.

            I tossed off my pants, rolled on the condom, and started slicking myself up with the lube, finding no harm in using all of the small bottle. I had no problem taking my time, leaving a whimpering and throbbing Kenny under me.

            When I was ready, I grabbed his hips and flipped his body over. He enthusiastically took this as a cue and rose up on all fours.

            I wish I could tell you that I took it slow and romantic, kissing down slowly to the small of his back, but this was not the time for that. We were too eager, and in that moment, I knew neither one of us had any desire to take this slow and steady. The only thing on my mind as I slathered up the remainder of the lube was how fast and hard I was going to fuck Kenny into oblivion.

            And he was ready for it.

            My first entry was our slowest point, which was the most important. I heard Kenny inhale sharply again and he bit at his knuckle, but when I stopped to make sure he was alright, he nodded frantically, as though he was worried that I was going to stop.

            From that point on, I only got faster, currents of ecstasy pumping through my veins into Kenny. His arms suddenly began to quiver from the pleasure and fatigue of holding himself up, and he fell onto his elbows. I kept his ass tighter against me as this happened, which tightened him around my cock more as well, and we each let out a groan.           

            I found my rhythm again, but this tighter position was driving me crazy. I could tell I wasn't going to be able to last, but I refused to slow my pacing. Kenny's hand had found his own cock and was now pumping at it in time with the bucking of my hips. I grabbed onto him tightly with both hands, using them to pull him harder against me as I brought my hips to him.

            " _P-please,_ " Kenny whimpered. The growl was gone. I had tamed him. I never got to figure out was he was saying 'please' for though. With three hard, final thrusts, I finished with loud grunt. Kenny bunched the sheets in his left hand as his warm cum trickled over his right. He let out a wordless moan that he had clearly been trying to suppress as he collapsed beneath me.

            I flipped him around and lowered myself onto him, our bodies sticky with sweat and cum.

            I loved it. The way bare skin felt on bare skin. I licked at his neck, reveling in the now salty taste.

**oOo**

            After a fairly  innocent, much needed shower together, we tucked ourselves into bed early. For the first time that week, we slept in the same bed together, and Kenny seemed pleased to be able to give the sofa up.

            We didn't discuss anything that had happened. We didn't discuss fashion, and we didn't discuss our relationship, real or fiction. We just let it all be for the evening and fell asleep quickly, once again with bare skin on bare skin, my arms wrapped around him and held tight against his back.                                                         

 


	7. 7

**Kenny POV**               

When I woke up the next morning, I was both intrigued and relieved to see that Craig was still wrapped around me. His hand was draped over my torso, a thumb caressing the edges of my black rose. I'm sure it was unintentional, but there's was just something so  _cool_  about it. Like…movie-cool. Craig is like, one of those _aesthetic_ guys, you know? His subconscious probably made him do it just to look so cool.

            Now, normally it might not mean much to have the man you just slept with like, spooning you morning after, probably. In the same position you fell asleep in. Nothing out of the ordinary there  _really_. But...shit man, I don't know. You know that after-sex thing...like where you gotta piss really bad after it's all said and done for whatever the hell reason? Yeah, well, Craig got up to go as was expected of him. I felt him crawl out of bed in the middle of the night and the bathroom light clicked on and all.

            And yet, we awoke in more or less the exact same position we had…ended in.

            Even after having the precious moment broken by a bathroom break, the bastard came right back to the same position, wrapped around me. Crazy. I can count on my fingers how many times  _that_  has happened. Because I don’t have to use any fingers at all. Ha.

            I lead a lame existence, alright? I do  _have_  a social life (you can’t really avoid it in South Park – even the people who don’t like you feel obligated to say hi). It's my love life that lacks real, uh,  _substance_. I mean, what a change of pace to sleep with a man who  _came back_  after the bathroom break. Usually they would use that as an excuse to pick up their scattered clothing and make the walk of shame quietly out of the room as I pretend to still be asleep. I had half expected to hear Craig slip out the hotel door after coming back from the bathroom before remembering that he couldn't exactly  _go_ anywhere.

            But I mean...I guess he and I had the same problem after all. Hadn't he hired me in the first place because  _his_  love life lacked "substance?" I mean, shit, by those standards, we're made for each other. Craig the billionaire and Kenny the reasonably-priced stripper. Match made in heaven, I'll tell you.

            After waking up and falling back asleep three times to Craig's deep snores, I finally got up for good at about nine to see my benefactor ( _read_ : lover? pretend boyfriend? real boyfriend?) at the coffee machine. The hair sticking up at the nape of his neck and his bare back were telltale signs of his lack of a shower. Shit looked downright domestic.

            "You snore," was the first thing I decided was appropriate to tell him.

            "Do I?" He turned to me, coffee in his right hand and his left leaning against the counter. There was something particularly devious about his expression, but I couldn't exactly place it.

            "Well...you haven't the past few nights, actually. So maybe it's just a thing you do after a beautiful night with a beautiful man?"

            "Mm," he agreed with a sip of his battery acid. "That would explain why they rarely last through the night."

            "Hey, I stayed, didn't I?"

            He shrugged, not bothering to state the obvious fact that I couldn't have actually gone anywhere even if I wanted to. Regardless of personal feelings and relations, nothing was going to change the fact that I was being paid, and that was that.

            Quietly, I made my own coffee and my mind couldn't help but wander to the tuft of hair at Craig's neck, just cow licked up the way it was, and the way it swirled, drawing the eyes down between the shoulder blades, which were so perfectly visible and defined without a shirt to cover them...

            I hoped that Craig hadn't showered yet because he was waiting for me or something glorious like that, because I had gone and excited myself and I was having a hard time imagining venturing out the hotel without a little reprise of the night before.

            I decided instead to kill the feeling by saying the most clichéd - the most  _embarrassing_  statement to ever escape my lips.  I flinch, just thinking about it, and I can honestly say that I never imagined such a phrase coming from my mouth, and yet, Mr. Tucker caused me to surprise myself yet again.

            "Let's talk about  _us_."

            Fuck. Slap me, please, I deserve it, but I mean...if any situation deserved such a statement, it was this one.

            Craig's eyebrows shot up, but I know he knew we had to discuss, you know,  _us._  I think he was more surprised (and relieved) that I just sucked it up and said it first.

            "And...what about  _us_?" he teased. He knew perfectly well what I was on about, but I figured I would go ahead and humor him.

            "Where does last night put us?"

            And I guess he really had no idea what to say to that. So maybe he  _hadn't_  really thought about it.

            "Okay, to make it...easier," I helped, "last night was, um...no extra charge."

            He blushed lightly, just under his eyes and at the tips of his ears. It was actually pretty funny (not to mention fuckin' adorable) that we went through all that we had the night before with animalistic passion, but that he blushed at the mention of it.

            "I see..." he said bashfully. It made me wonder if he had actually considered paying me for the act.

            "I told you, I have standards, remember? I'm not a prostitute. Just a stripping male escort."

            He laughed, and I might have been the slightest bit offended if I hadn't realized how  _not_  serious I sounded.

            "So, uh...I was definitely sleeping with regular South Park stripper Kenny, rather than paid  _model_  Kenny? Just to, you know, clarify..."

            "Plot twist, Craig:  _they're the same person._ "

            Now  _that_  was a purely serious statement. It's just...I was getting a better paycheck for being model Kenny. To be honest, besides lying about having modeled before (and being in an official relationship with Craig), I didn't actually have to do much acting. He seemed to pick up on this. I actually…had expected him to be smarter than all this.

            "So then how much of our fake relationship was actually fake to you?"

            I shrugged. "I dunno. That's kind of a grey fuzzy area, really. I never would have minded holding your hand for real. I just had rhyme and reason to do so in public if I wanted to, so I just did. I can't say for sure when I did it because I wanted it, and when I did it to fool everyone else. There's not a very clear distinction. I dunno. Does it really matter? I like you, Craig. Model Kenny likes you  _and_ Stripper Kenny. You know, that little asshole in the hoodie you have first period with. But again, same guy."

            At that, he kind of threw himself at me and kissed me full on the mouth. It was almost innocent, in comparison to our first kisses. It was sweet, because I could feel that it came purely from his happiness and not just primal instinct.

            "So, uh..." he got bashful again. I hated how his dumb shy blush made me feel like a twelve year old with a crush. Kind of embarrassing, since I probably haven't actually felt that way since I was twelve, but, like...whatever. The funny thing is, it was probably Craig I had a crush on back then, too.

                "Does this mean I can call you my boyfriend like, um...like, in here, too?"

            I laughed out loud. You know, from his magazine shoots and interviews and designs, and even how he was in school, all stoic and shit, I never would have pegged Craig Tucker as such a complete loser.

            "I mean, yeah, of course, if you want that."

            And he  _beamed_. I mean  _really_  fucking smiled. I had broken him somehow. I had seen that dazzling smile often since being in New York – Craig actually smiled and laughed a lot in this environment - but he always acted so  _cool_  around me, like he was afraid I’d forget his South Park persona, that I had not been the sole recipient of the smiles too often. Something about knowing that I had caused the smile just made me stupidly happy. Despite  _my_  trying to be cool, I couldn't help but break into a completely stupid smile as well.

            "This should make the act out there twice as easy then, hm?" he finally said after a completely non-awkward minute of us watching each other smile. My expression must have shifted slightly, because he started waving his hands, like he was trying to get rid of some lingering thought in the air.

            "Don't think I'm not going to pay you still, though! I totally am, in full. I mean, just because we're together for real now doesn't mean you aren't my employee anymore. I'll still pay the three thousand, the modeling salary...you still keep the clothes..."

            It was like he was concerned that I would take it all back if I wasn't being paid. I wouldn't, of course, but that reassurance still kind of made me want to kiss him all over. Sugar daddy, amiright?

            I settled for one kiss, slightly less innocent that the one I had just received, but honestly, that kiss had been like a playground peck. This was more like a relationship seal.

            It played out sweetly, one hand at his bare and dimpled lower back, and his hand at my jaw. The scents of our two different coffee cups swirled together between us, and for a while it seemed like I had been with Craig forever. It was so strange, but after years of men leaving before coffee was even a question, how else was I supposed to feel?

            We were broken up by the melodic twinkle of Craig's text tone from his phone on the night stand. I excused him to get it, taking a moment to pick up Craig’s cup and inhale deeply. It smelled really good, actually, but I could almost feel the strength. It was like smelling Dad’s moonshine shit. I couldn't fathom how Craig decided he liked the piss for its  _flavor_ , let alone why he decided to try it anyway.

            "That was Clyde," Craig explained, interrupting my train of thought. "He and Token are about ten minutes from the catwalk, so we need to hop to it."

            I had kind of completely forgetting all about doing the actual modeling part of my job for a bit, but we still had Craig's shoot to do and I had been promised a final rehearsal. This time, the rest of Craig's models were going to join us near the end for official dress rehearsal and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. It just seemed to creep up a lot faster than I was prepared for. Still, Clyde had said if I could walk in heels, I could walk without them, so I knew my actual walking would look at least look half confident.

            After Craig's text we both scrambled to get ready. He packed more outfits for the official dress rehearsal and stuck his head under the bathroom sink to fix his bed head He didn't have time at that point for a full on shower, but I reminded him of our post-sex shower the night before. It seemed he had forgotten all about it, apparently not counting it as a shower since it involved more than one person. We  _had_ actually cleaned up though - it was fairly innocent for a two person shower - so he decided his hair wetting would suffice.

            He also requested I keep the lip ring in again. While he assured me that it, of course, was to enhance the aesthetic of the show, he was also now able to admit that it was "sexy as hell."

            I bit at it purposely, trying to feign thoughtfulness. "Oh yeah? You don't think it's tawdry or anything?"

               Yeah, I said _tawdry._

            I mean, I knew it wasn't. Even I admit to myself that it looks fucking great. Why else would I have gotten it if I hadn't seen other hot guys pulling it off? I just asked Craig because I wanted him to piss himself over it again. And he did, obviously, reassuring me enthusiastically that it was fitting and just subtle enough and did I think that he, a fashion professional, would allow me to walk down the runway with it in if it didn't look absolutely perfect?

            I'll tell you what, dating someone in the fashion industry, regardless of the relationship's validation, is a miracle for self-esteem.

            Craig had me dress in black skinny jeans, a fad I never tried simply because of its reputation. I also…could never afford any before. Looking in the mirror though, I have to say I looked pretty damn fantastic. He said the key was clothes that fit and clothing made for your body type. Doesn't matter if you need to buy the biggest size of something or the smallest - if that's what fits you, that's what will make you look good. A bigger size won't make you look bigger. It'll just make you look like you know how to dress properly. Just like buying a size too small won't make you that size. He said that was a common issue with skinny jeans - people buying a size that was not fit just for them.

            "On you, though, they're a dream. You're taller and lean, and they hug you the right way."

               I like how he used the word _lean_ rather than _malnourished_. How kind of him.

               Also, I don’t know what the _right way_ is supposed to mean.

            Well.

            I should say I  _didn't_ know the right way. Until I saw what Craig was wearing. If my ass looked as good in skinny jeans as his did in corduroys, I would never take them off.

            "Can I ask you something?" Craig said after we got into our car ready to leave.  Clyde and Token had already made it to the studio.

            "Shoot."

            "So, uh...why did you keep changing and stuff with the bathroom door locked? Like, if you were into me and stuff. You strip for a living. Why hide? Was it a tease? I don't understand...and then I just did it because you were doing it."

            I laughed at him. Sometimes his naivety struck me.

            "Kind of hard to get dressed in front of someone with a hard-on. Thought that might throw a wrench in everything before I decided to totally toss it out the window. Can't have you thinking I was into you or anything."

            He blushed hard and I laughed again, unfazed. Talking casually about sex was nothing to me, really. It's my living. Seeing Craig trying to do the same, both talking about it and hearing about it, was a different matter. It was entertaining.

            "So, uh...no kidding, huh? You really did fight with yourself on this one for a while."

            My smile turned into a serious expression and I nodded. I mean, yeah, of course. With every minute, I was realizing that I was a lot more serious than I had thought. I didn't need to hide behind the fake boyfriend thing, and yet, I was acting pretty much the same.

            Well. I mean. Not acting. But I didn't have to change anything. Nothing was different except for it feeling real now. It was nice. It was cool. It was right.

            It was  _absolutely_  fucking terrifying.

            But, uh. Yeah. I'll figure that part out later.

            We arrived at our rehearsal space apparently not long after Clyde and Token had arrived - we caught them just at the edge of the catwalk still sipping on hot coffee.

            It always entertained me seeing them in their street clothes. Like their more casual stuff. It was still pretty high scale and designer, but like...the casual side of designer. You know, like t-shirts that just look like t-shirts until you see that they're sixty bucks? I keep getting put in these button-ups to match Craig, but Clyde wore a tight navy blue Hollister tee. I imagine he would fit in Los Angeles, except for the part where he looked like the brand personified. Like the damn models that show up in front of the store to pose with thirteen year old girls.

            Well. I mean, he  _is_ a model. He probably  _has_  done work for them before. The thing is, any guy could throw on a Hollister shirt. I'm sure even someone might tease him for it, whatever. Some Californian surfer wannabe. And it  _almost_ looked comical to see Clyde dressed that way, such a ripped stereotypical SoCal guy, but no one would ever be able to say anything about him, because anyone who might think to tease him about it would never get the chance to look as perfect in that shirt as he did.

            Token was a little more effortless...and yet, I think it would take years of effort for me to pull off what he was wearing. It was just a short sleeved button up with the sleeves rolled up once. But floral print.  _Floral._ Can you imagine? Me in a floral? How would it ever work? But Token was just pulling it off like it was made for him. The flowers complimented his dark skin in such a unique way that the shirt  _had_  to be made for him. I discreetly tried to catch a glimpse of a tag and found a name embroidered at the hem –

              _Craig Tucker._

            I was now about 90% sure that the shirt was made just for him.  99% sure he wore it on a catwalk.  Last year's Spring collection? There was no doubt.

            They put down their coffees to help Craig and I get out all of the clothes that he had brought along for rehearsal. It was a lot like our last one, but more clothing options and less high heels.

            "The extra is for the models that are coming later," Craig mentioned, and directed us to the outfits we would be wearing. For the most part, they were the same as before with perhaps an extra outfit for each of us. We retained the edgy alternative style, like Craig was trying to revive the best of 90's grunge and make it classier with a polished modern highlight.

            Look at me, I'm talking fashion. 

            Once we were dressed, Craig took his regular seat and bid us to practice. Our goal was to get my walk and turns as polished as we could, even before our colleagues arrive. We all decided it would be for the best that the other models not know they were working with an amateur.

            "You've got your walk down pretty well," Token assured me. "The heels definitely helped you, whether you believe it or not."

            I smiled at him. He was really fucking hard not to smile around him. Something about his demeanor was strangely relaxing.

            "T's right," Clyde agreed, patting a huge hand on my shoulder. "Your walk alone is damn near perfect at this point. Now you really need to focus on your turn and you pose - or look. That's going to make or break your walk."

            You  _think_  I didn't know shit about fashion before this gig, but hey, I'm Kenneth Stuart Motherfuckin' Kirschtein. I know a thing or two. I knew some designers. I knew fashion week was a big thing. And I  _know_  all about turns and all that shit.

            Remember? I'm a movie watcher. I've seen  _The Incredibles_ , so I’m able to understand that Stan is Edna Mode. I've seen  _The Devil Wears Prada_ , so I understand that Eric is Miranda Priestly, and that Kyle and Butters are their glorified bitches. I've seen  _Mean Girls_  (five hundred times), so I know how this social class works.

            But most important of all is the one movie I've seen just about as many times as  _Mean Girls_.

             _Zoolander_.

            I know what a turn is, and I  _know_  what a look is.

            I decided to play around just to show off my elite expertise. Clyde and Token each walked once and demonstrated a perfect walk, stop, and turn with outfits Craig had selected for them. Token had a jacket with his ensemble and took  it off and flipped it over a shoulder with one fluid movement. If I could mimic something like that, I'd be golden.

            But. I decided to play around first.

            "Ready to go?" Clyde asked. I nodded simply and walked up the platform. My coaches hopped down beside Craig and they flipped on the soundtrack.

            I did everything just the way I was supposed to, one foot in front of the other. The looks on my small crowds' faces told me that I was doing everything just right. Thanks to my stripping acts, I already knew how to bob myself in time with the music. I wondered how Craig would feel about incorporating a pole into his show.

            I reached the end on the walk and stopped, perfectly with a break in the music.

            That was mostly my extremely good luck with timing.

            Standing sideways, I turned my head, pursed my lips, sucked in my cheeks, and cocked an eyebrow.

            Instantly, Token fell over himself with laughter. Craig hid a laugh behind his hand, but he was turning red from trying to keep it in, which made  _me_  laugh. Clyde flicked the music off immediately and snorted.

            "Did you really just use  _Blue Steel_  as your look?"

            I couldn't even say anything. I just snorted and sniggered again, having received the reaction I had hoped for, and Clyde finally broke out with his own fittingly booming laugh.

            "I think every male model in history has attempted Blue Steel at least once," Clyde chuckled. Token ran a hand through his hair, mumbling something about needing to watch the movie again.

            Craig looked like he was still trying to stifle back his laughs. "It probably wouldn't have been as funny if you didn't do it so fucking well."

            "Let's have another go, I think," Clyde said, setting the music back. I hopped off the catwalk to recompose myself.

            "Hey, Token," I piped up seriously. He looked at me, eyebrows raised, prepared to answer a sincere modeling question, but I think he knew what I was getting at. "Did you ever think that there was more to life than being really, really,  _really_  ridiculously good looking?"

            "Oh, you think I'm really, really good looking?" he snorted. I gave him my pout again for added effect and he turned away quickly before doubling over in laughter again.

            "I mean, maybe we should be doing something more  _meaningful_  with our lives. Like  _helping_  people," I finished, climbing back onto the catwalk. I had watched the movie so many times that my impression was near perfection. I noticed Craig strike a tear away from the corner of his eye.

            From then on, I kept my poses professional, mimicking what Clyde and Token had done, trying with jackets and without jackets, and turning both left and right. I also tried out some stuff I had learned from watching shows on Youtube on Craig’s phone during down time, which everyone seemed to be rather impressed with. With a bit of tweaking, I looked rather good next to the other models who finally arrived.

            I wish I could say that Clyde and Token were the best looking men Craig had, if not the best looking men I had ever seen in person. They were my mentors. I was biased.

            Unfortunately,  _all_  of Craig's models were the best looking men I had ever seen.  Bastard knew how to pick them. In any other situation, being in their presence would intimidate the hell out of me. In this case, it was kind of a confidence boost, because I was among their ranks. I was  _worthy_.

            Not gunna lie, they caused a moment of weakness. I spared a wink or two here and there to my fellow models, all in good, innocent fun. It's hard, really, going from a job where I have to put on a show to please other men for a living, to a job where I have to put on a show to please Craig Tucker for a living, to a job where I'm  _just_  a model and in a monogamous relationship. Old habits are hard to break. It's a strange mindset to adjust to. Clyde and Token raised an eyebrow at me now and then and I could only shrug and smile in response.

            Watching the other models proved to be extremely helpful as well. I tried keeping my walk my own, just as I was taught, because I knew trying to fix something that was already good would only lead to destruction - especially the day before the show. I did, however, latch onto a lot of their poses and styles, and I guess that paid off.

            It was nice to see Craig's collection before the official show. Personally I loved everything about it. Leather, denim...but classed up. I wondered how much of it I could take away with me. Besides that, I was kind of ogling it the entire time and I'm sure I looked completely stupid doing so. It was nice to get all of my dumb staring out of the way before I had to do this in front of a lot more people.

            "Think you're ready for the grand finale?" Clyde asked. I shrugged.

            "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be. And if I fuck up, I think the crowd will be too distracted by the other models to notice me."

            With a booming laugh, he gave me a pat on the shoulder. "Good attitude to have, Zoolander."

            "Let's wrap it up, guys!" Craig commanded.  I kind of loved the authoritative tone of his voice and wondered if he could transfer it to... _other_  situations. "Miss Testaburger has this place booked for the next three hours!"

            We started changing and packing up, although it seemed like I didn't need to do much. Wendy Testaburger came in when we still had about fifteen minutes left of time and I was pretty surprised to see that Butters and Kyle were tagging along with her and her models. I mean, I know they're really close and all. It was more surprising that Eric and Stan weren’t demanding their time.

            I went to greet my new friends as Craig helped get his models packed away and prepped for the next day.

            "Miss Testaburger," I greeted with a smile. I took her hand and kissed it. Quite gentlemanly of me, I do think. "Might I say your hair looks lovely today?"

            She took her hand back gently and looked at a strand of her black locks. "Mm. Thank you."

            She walked away, leaving Kyle and Butters with me.

            "Huh. Usually I would get a little more of a...reaction. Not even a eye-contact flirt."

            "I-I don't think she's in the market," Butters replied with half a smile.

            "For men? Well, it's not like I'm in the market for women -"

            "No, no," Kyle corrected me sharply. "For like...anyone."

            My eyebrows rose.

            "She's asexual," Butters explained softly. "Also, as far as I know, she's never been interested in a romantic relationship either. Her strongest relationships include her friendships with us and her rivalry with Red. And while anyone would tell you that her love and loyalty to us is the strongest love in the world, it's not  _that_ kind of love."

            "No kidding? Well, good for her," I remarked. There was something kind of beautiful about the whole thing, but I couldn't say what that was.

            "Works in her favor, I have to say," Kyle said, crossing her arms. "She's stupidly focused on her work."

            "So, where's the bosses tonight?" I asked. "Let the pups off the leash?"

            Kyles's eyes narrowed like he was offended, but Butters laughed as he pushed his hair back. "They're um, occupied tonight."

            They had probably given the interns some stupid excuse, but I had a strong feeling about what their bosses would actually be doing as the night reached its end.

            "-so we get to help Wendy tonight," he finished breaking me out of my daze. "You all hyped up for Craig's show tomorrow? Prepared?"

            I gave the two a cheeky smile. "Will you guys be there to support me?"

            "Of course, Ken!" Butters replied enthusiastically. It was actually pretty cute that he called me Ken – not many people did - and threatening to elbow Kyle if he claimed otherwise. I winked.

            "Then I am beyond prepared."

            I turned away to join Craig who was watching, waiting for me by Clyde and Token.

            "See you guys tomorrow, then!"

 


	8. 8

               I have to say, aside from all of my silly emotions and paranoia and...whatever, being able to say that I was in a relationship and that I had a boyfriend (and have it actually  _not_  be a lie) felt...really, really nice.

 

            Better than nice, actually. It's something I haven't felt or had in  _such_  a long time that it's hard thinking of adjectives to describe it properly. It's just surreal.

 

            Being with Kenny is...well, it's not what I expected. That probably sounds bad, but I mean it in the best way. I guess I'm kind of awful for judging him at face value, but when I walked into Passion Pit looking for an escort, I at least  _thought_  I knew what I was getting into. In a way, I was kind of right. Kenny isn't a millionaire. He's a little rough around the edges. But he's  _smart_. A lot smarter than I had originally given him credit for. He picked up on our lifestyle quickly and played it perfectly, and he can look at someone and just seem to  _know_  them in a way I was never able to do. I mean, obviously. I totally misjudged him. And I guess I totally missed all of my colleagues' secret lives, too. Secret lives that Kenny picked up on in a second. I should know by now how shallow the people I associate with are on the surface, but I don't know. I guess I'm just kind of too naive for all that.

            He's street smart, and in the world we're living in - the world of the glitterati - that counts for a lot. In fact, I'd actually say it benefits me as well, since I clearly was blind to half of what was going on.

            He's sweet in the funniest kind of way. Not a conventional kind of sweet. Not sweet like Bebe the Angel, or the way people say I'm sweet, being too nice to everyone (which often means not opening my mouth at all), even to a fault. He's sweet in the kind of way where he doesn't seem to want to let his guard down, until suddenly you catch him staring at you or he slips something into a conversation that is  _so_ full of warmth and love, and he tries to hide it like he never said a thing, but it's too wonderful to cover up.

            And God. Damn. That boy can kiss.

            It might just be deprived Craig talking here, but I don't know, he just kind of puts a little extra fire into it, it feels like.  For someone who hasn't been kissed in a while, I sure hit the jackpot on the person who broke my dry spell.

            So I assumed the paranoia was just, you know,  _me_. Not like I haven't had a problem with paranoia before, really. In fact, aside from my career, it's probably the main cause for my failed relationships in the past. That being said, I tried to keep the nagging voice in my mind silenced so that I could completely focus on my boyfriend.

            We lay in bed that night after our final rehearsal, and I placed that focus on the color in his eyes as he hovered over me, an elbow propping himself up beside my pillow.

            "What's your relationship with Wendy Testaburger?" he asked, tracing circles on my upper arm, after asking about my relationship with the assistants, and even further inquiring about my past with Token and Clyde. I didn't feel that it was too strange asking about them, seeing as he had formed a fast bond with them (though he did act a little closer to the assistants that I thought was normal, even if it  _was_  to make me jealous). Testaburger did seem kind of odd to be asking me about, though.

            "Why do you ask?"

            Kenny shrugged as much as he was able to for being balanced on one elbow.

            "Curiosity. Just learning as much as I can about everyone. And I figured, since we're together now, it would be helpful for me to know about your personal relationships with everyone and not just the ones I've made friends with."

            I nodded before he added on.

            "Like, I dunno...did you know she was asexual?"

            " _And_  aromantic, yes, I actually did know that."

            "Shocking. I mean, the fact that you knew. Seeing as you hardly seem to know a thing about the romance and sex lives of anyone in this industry."

            I laughed, but only because the statement was outstandingly true.

            "Right...," I agreed. "But I'm actually closer to Wendy that it looks on the surface."

            "No kidding?"

            "No kidding. We actually kind of got started in the industry about the same time. We graduated from the New York Fashion Institute together and we were pretty good friends in school as well. I think she just appreciated that I wasn't as pretentious or stuck up as a lot of our other classmates. We're just a lot busier these days, so we don't get chances to talk as much anymore, and of course, I came back to live in LA after school. We do call each other every now and then, just to catch up on the gossip about everyone else. She may not look to be the gossipy type, but girl knows some secrets."

            Kenny stared at me for a while until he started to turn red with laughter.

            "What? What's so funny?"

            "I don't know, I was just remembering about how you were so clueless about everyone having sex with each other, and I thought, well, if you're apparently so close with Wendy, then there's at least  _one_  person you  _have_  to know the sexual partners of, but...well, I guess not."

            "Hey! It's not my fault that she's not into that."

            He shrugged. "You could have at least inquired about Kyle and Butters."

            "Nah, we have more important stuff to gossip about. Bigger fish to fry. Hey, wanna know something funny?"

            "What?"

            "At one point, tabloids speculated about us dating."

            " _What?_ _Who, you and Wendy?_ "

            "Yup. No kidding. I mean, someone knew we were close, I suppose. Followed us around, saw us on coffee dates? And  _of course_ , we're a man and a woman, so  _of course_  that _had to_ mean we must be dating. I mean, honestly, those tabloid writers are dumb as rocks. We didn't even do anything about it. We just bought some copies of the magazine and laughed at them over lattes. It didn't even affect anyone in our circle because even if not everyone knew about Wendy's preferences, or lack thereof, I don't really keep my own hidden. Everyone knew how farfetched it was, and Kyle and Butters teased her about it for weeks."

            Kenny shook his head in disbelief. "Huh. Wendy Testaburger and Craig Tucker. OTP for life."

            "OT...what?"

            Kenny blinked a few times. "Um. Never...nevermind."

            "Anyway," I continued, still confused slightly by Kenny's comment, "The two of us decided to have a deal. If I never got married by age, like, forty, she and I would get married, live together platonically, and make life simpler for our old selves by splitting bills and, you know, text benefits and all. Permanent roommate, I guess."

            "Adorable," Kenny said, chuckling and shaking his head again. “And if you  _do_  get married to someone else? Does that mean she's out of your life for good?"

            "Believe it or not, we've discussed this. She's offered to be a surrogate for me if I ever decide I want my own kids. Honestly, though, I think she'd do it anyway, even if we did the thing where the two of us get married."

            "Craig Tucker and Wendy Testaburger, married and platonically raising a child. Now I've heard of everything."

            "Oh, shut up," I said, playfully swatting at his shoulder.

            "You've forgotten something though."

            "What?"

            "No one will ever believe a marriage between you and Wendy when you have such a dashing boyfriend on your arm," he winked. Before I could reply, he was kissing my lips. He then shifted to give me a little kiss at the corner of my mouth, and then down to my chin, and then my neck. He continued down until he had kissed nearly every square inch of my body.

            "I think- hn! Wendy will-mm! Forgive me," I replied between surprised gasps. I pulled him back to my lips for another kiss that sent us beneath the sheets, and we remained there until I had forgotten Wendy's name, and the fact that I was ever paranoid over Kenny's relationship with any of my colleagues.

oOo

            The next morning had all the makings of a lazy, after-sweet-sex, morning. The kind of morning where you don't even consider getting out of bed until about eleven, and then you finally roll out and make pancakes together in boxers and robes.

            Not that I know much about those kind of mornings from personal experience. But I've heard about them and read about them and seen them in movies, and if any morning were to go that way, it would be this one.

            Unfortunately, I was gently roused awake when Kenny tossed over at my side, and the clock on the bedside table (with a red light indicating that the alarm was set) reminded me that such a blissful morning was going to have to wait.

            I woke at a lucky time, two minutes prior to the alarm going off. I switched it off so that the obnoxious cacophony would not interrupt the mood of the morning as it had a shrill tendency to do. I guessed that as long as we had to get up early and get to work after the kind of night we had had, at the very least it would be more pleasant to nudge Kenny awake on my own.

            I leaned down to his ear and kissed it and just by the shift in his breathing pattern I could tell that he was slightly more awake. I had noticed in just this time that we had spent together so far that he was an exceptionally light-sleeper.

            "Today's the day, baby," I whispered softly. He groaned. "We have to get going."

            I rolled out of bed and took inventory of my wardrobe. Today was my show, so of course I was prepared to wear nothing but my best. Still, I wasn't entirely sure if it was best for me to wear a regular nice suit  _or_ something edgier to fit in with my collection.

            "No tie," Kenny mumbled groggily as I held up two different ones against my neck.

            "Morning, Sleeping Beauty," I said. "No tie?"

            "Right," he followed up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his wrist. "Wear the more formal suit, but with no tie. And leave the blazer with only one button."

            I followed his instruction with a slight smirk over the fact that my last-second model was giving me fashion advice. My eyebrows rose when I saw myself in the mirror, and I have to admit, it was exactly the kind of look I needed, albeit not one I had considered. For whatever reason, I had not considered simply making the more formal look edgy. Which was strange seeing as that was more or less the basic concept of my entire collection. I laughed at myself and how obviously Kenny was now integrated into our world.

            "Any suggestions for what I should wear?" he asked, headed for the shower, and I was painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't bothered to cover any inch of his bare body on the journey from the bed to the bathroom.

            "U-um, no, you can wear whatever you'd like," I said, having trouble deciding whether it was best to zero in my attentions on his ass or my words. "I mean, you're going to be modeling for the most important part of the day, and I'm providing those clothes. I trust your judgment in the meantime."

            For the first few days, I probably would not have had the courage to let him choose his own outfit, but he advised  _me_  on fashion today, and after all, everything I had bought for him was designer. Even if he put stuff together that didn't exactly go together, the brands would help him at the very least. I also couldn't deny the fact that he was a  _real_  model now, regardless of how he earned his title. I had to give him some credit where credit was due. By this point, he had seen more fashion shows and been on more runways than most other people get to in their entire lives.

            As per usual, I had the coffee ready by the time he was out of the shower. We had officially fallen into a routine, and besides that, I had learned how to make his coffee the way he preferred it. Which I thought was pretty impressive, seeing as nothing ever goes into my own coffee.

            Kenny emerged from the shower and got dressed, which was an act he now had no issue performing in front of me. He was head to toe in a Ralph Lauren ensemble which he was wearing  _casually_. I feigned wiping a tear in pride. Not that I didn't like him in his neon tank and cut offs that day I took him to Rodeo, but in just one week, he had made a complete transformation. He wasn't even going to be walking down the runway in the outfit, and he was top notch.

            I held his coffee to him when he stood up from tying his Italian dress shoe.

            "I can't," he insisted, shaking a hand at it.

            "What, already watching the waist line? Kenny, you're fine."

            "No, just nerves," he said, with a hand to his stomach. I raised an eyebrow at him.

            "You'll be perfect! You get on stage all the time!"

            He shrugged. "I get nervous when I strip, too. No matter what, it's just I thing I have. It goes away just before I go on and adrenaline and muscle memory takes over, but still. I don't think I could drink a thing."

            I forced it into his hands. "You won't regret it. Trust me. You'll need  _something_  in your stomach, and the extra energy is only going to help you. Especially after last night," I added with a wink. It got him to smile and sip at the beverage at least.

            "If I throw up on your runway," he mumbled into the mug, "don't say I didn't warn you."

            Still, by the time I got everything together and we were ready to step out the door, he had finished the entire coffee. He stilled grumbled about getting sick, but somehow I knew he wouldn't. If he knew anything was going to go seriously wrong, he would have left the coffee alone.

            "You remember everything?" I asked him as he headed to our limousine.

            "You mean, like...what I'm supposed to do?"

            "Yeah, your moves, yeah."

            He laughed. Like really scoffed at me.

            " _My moves_ …Craig. I walk. That's it. I just have to pose, walk, pose,  _turn_ , walk, pose. Easy. It's not like I have a damn... _dance routine_  to remember."

            He kept laughing and I just stared at him until I couldn't help but laugh as well.

            "Well, geeze, then what are you so nervous for?"

            He shrugged."I mean...I don't know...I just am. There are still people that are going to be watching me either way.  I have to make you look good. You gave me a rep to protect now, too."

            He rolled his eyes. "I don't think you need to worry about making me look good."

            He raised his eyebrow at me. "Oh, that confident, are you?"

            "No, no, I mean...they've all seen you with me already. I don't think that you've noticed, but do you realize that when the paparazzi are at the shows, they take pictures of the crowd, too? You already make me look good. I'm not depending on this  _show_  to have you make me look good. Don't forget, I invited you to be with me here before I even determined you were going to model. Just...do what you've been practicing, and follow the other models. You're behind Clyde every time you walk on, so just follow his step. It'll be perfect."

            He looked off, like he was deep in thought about something. "Mm...yeah."

            "Yeah? So...all good?"

            He suddenly snapped out of his reverie and looked down at me. "Yeah. Let's do this."

oOo

 

            Backstage was hectic as usual, but I slipped right into the regular routine. Fashion Week was like coming home. Kenny, of course, had no routine to slip back into, other than what he had been doing in rehearsals, but for that, he was doing his best to appear professional.

            He behaved the way he had behaved all week, fretting around his clothing rack, chatting nervously with Clyde, Token, and the other models he had just met, and staring off into some sort of deep daydream at what sometimes seemed like the most inopportune of times. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking at times like those, but I decided that if it was something he never brought up to me, it wasn't important. Heck, maybe he was just one of those people who stared off and really thought of  _nothing_.  Some people do that - just retreat into themselves when they need to. Maybe it's a coping mechanism for...something.

 

            Which brought me to another idea that, believe it or not, did a wonder on my paranoia. I mean, he talks to those models and those assistants in the most suggestive way. But really, he  _had_  told me that I was clueless about reading people. I tried to convince myself that I was totally wrong. Maybe that's just how it looked to my embarrassingly untrained eye.

             I think some people talk, or flirt, in that sort of way as a nerve kind of thing.

            I think.

             And in that case, I think Kenny is one of those people.  _Point being_ , I've managed to convince myself that my recent paranoia is likely unjustified. After all, Kenny confessed to his real-fake flirting and already told me that it was a tactic to get to me, and so what reason does he have to continue? I think it's just the fact that my eyes are more open to it now that I know it was a thing.

            Whatever.

            Or at least, whatever for now. Whatever as long as it's time for the show and eyes are focused on me. Whatever as long as I  _need_  to keep my composure intact.

            And besides, if it actually  _is_ all a coping mechanism for Kenny and it helps keep his nerves down, then I can turn a blind eye to it.

            I had my models dressed and their clothing racks assigned. They stood in line in the order they were to go on with makeup artists still tailing some of them, dabbing different colors on their faces. I let them do their thing for the most part, as far as powders were concerned, but I asked that all my boys wear eyeliner. I thought it might add to the alternative thing, and it totally did, I mean, it looked great.

            But...I kind of shot myself in the foot with it.

            It was a last minute decision, meaning we didn't do it at the dress rehearsal. Therefore, seeing Kenny in eyeliner for the first time  _right before_ introducing my collection was almost the death of me. It wasn't until the moment before I started speaking to the crowd that I even found my words again.

            What I'm saying is, men should wear eyeliner every day, pretty much.

            Of course, Stan and Eric were front and center as always, but I could just barely see their outlines with the lights pointed up at me. My eyes adjusted quickly enough for me to just see their faces as well, and the assistants beside them, but I thought maybe if Kenny went fast enough, he wouldn't see their faces looking up at him and he wouldn't be so nervous.

            Or maybe seeing his friends would comfort him. Maybe the thing that calmed him when he did shows back in South Park was seeing men's faces looking up at him. Probably, seeing as he worked the crowd so well. Hell, what do I know?

            After my collection was introduced with a bow, I excused myself backstage once more.

            "Break a leg, boys," I whispered. Token smiled at me, first in line, looking cool and tall in tight black pants and a blazer. His hair was buzzed in an intricate design and he looked deadly with the sharp eyeliner against his dark skin. He was a good look to be the first on the runway.

            Clyde shot me double pistols and a wink when I reached him, and the eyeliner looked almost ironic on him, but in the best of ways. It was like one of those fashion or beauty things you see that you could never imagine working, until you use it in the most perfect way and it ends up sexy as hell - like blue lipstick or completely untamed hair.

            Kenny was making my heart jump, dressed just the way he had rehearsed, but  _damn_ , his eyes were popping. Frankly, it was driving me crazy, and I was especially thankful that I would not have to return to the stage until the show was completely over.

            "You're going to be great," I whispered to him.

            "I know," he replied. He was trying not to smirk at me after his smart answer and was failing, so I kissed him before he could break out the mischievous look in its entirety. 

            "Good luck."

            From there I was able to watch from backstage, but it was a little different from when I was able to watch from the sidelines with Clyde and Token in that I had no one's arm to squeeze my nerves out on.

            "Esme, c'mere!" whispered loudly to one of the makeup artists.

            " _Ouie,_ Mr. Tucker?"

            "Hold my hand!"

            She handed it to me and I held it pressed against my chest.

            "Nervous?"

            "This collection is my baby, you know. And it's his first time."

            " _His_? You mean...," She looked to where Kenny was in line. Token was just returning to change into his second outfit and shot a thumbs up to me to let me know that all was so far, so good. That meant that, at the very least, Stan hadn't scowled yet.

            "The one with the...," Esme continued, gesturing at the nape of her neck to indicate Kenny’s fresh undercut. "You're dating him,  _non_? It's his first time?"

            "Mhm," I replied, nodding at her.

            " _No_...he's so good looking, though!"

            I looked at her with raised eyebrows, unsure of how Kenny being good looking was a reason why this couldn't be his first show.

            "Look, he's going on now!"

            And so he was. Kenny walked up the steps and I saw him step out onto the catwalk. Token was trying to see out as well, and I realized that he would be passing Clyde out there. I had a feeling he would be calmed by that.

            I knew I could trust him, but I still found myself pleading with him in my head not to do the Blue Steel thing. So far, he was doing perfectly. And by perfectly, I mean just like everyone else. He was blending in, even if to me he looked a little better than the rest.

            Excuse my prejudice.

            But his walk was brilliant and I was glad for my clothes as well - unfortunately, not every outfit translates well to a skinny model and a lit up runway. But this was good and it seemed that he was able to put on foot in front of the other no problem.

            He got to the end of the runway and I held my breath.

             He coolly unzipped his jacket and tossed it over a shoulder the way Token had taught him. Perfect.

            I released the breath (which I don't think I realized I had been holding), and whispered an apology to Esme after noticing that I was squeezing her hand a little too hard.

            "Ooh, he did so well, Mr. Tucker!"

            "He did, didn't he?"

            When Clyde appeared backstage once more, his eyebrows rose and he nodded at me, somehow letting me know that my boy had done well, even if there was a little surprise behind the look.

            Kenny came back, and despite trying to keep his cool look, he couldn't help but find me and smile before going to change into his second look. The relief I felt was unprecedented.

            The remainder of the show went off quite the same way, with Kenny catching my eye when he could and Clyde and Token giving me the occasional nod to let me know that all was going well, in terms of Kenny _and_ in terms of the show's reception. I gave Esme's hand a rest, which she seemed to be grateful for, and did what I could to watch the rest from behind the scenes.

            Then, before I knew it, the show was over, and I was back on the catwalk taking my bows. It seemed that the reception  _was_  good, and seeing as no one in the audience looked like they wanted to gauge their eyes out or be sick, I hoped that the collection would be editorial ready.

            "Was that fantastic, or was that  _fucking_  fantastic?" Kenny shouted to me when I came back. He attacked me with a full on embrace, evidently ignoring any cool facade he was trying to keep up for himself.

            "I'm just glad you didn't retreat back into  _Zoolander_."

            "What? That's all you have-"

            I kissed him to shut him up. "Brilliant. It was brilliant.  _You_ were brilliant. Come on, Wendy's show is next."

            " _Ooh_ , your  _girlfriend_ ," he taunted like a grade school student. I stomped on his foot.

            The seats started rearranging themselves for Wendy's show and we found ourselves sitting with Red and Bebe in the second row. They had, I remembered, still not met Kenny, but Kenny was quickly greeted by the assistants in the front row first, and Red got straight to praising my show.

            " _Loved_  the color scheme, my man," said my bitch-twin. The color scheme, of course, consisting of dark reds and greens, grays and blacks. In fact, not completely far off from her own, so I accepted the compliment. "And  _nice_  catch, too."

            I shifted slightly to listen in on the "catch's" conversation.

            "You have to come get coffee with us tomorrow, since it's the last day," Butters was insisting, turned around in his chair. "You can't tell me you have a rehearsal to run through."

            Kenny tilted his head towards me, smiling.

            "Yeah, I think my  _coach_  will let me off the hook for an afternoon," he teased. I shrugged, returning his smile.

            "Text me," Kenny mouthed to Butters as the lights adjusted to fit Wendy's show.

            The show itself was as brilliant as everyone expected it would be. As always, I was stunned by the intricacy of Wendy's detail, head to toe. It made me wish that it was more socially acceptable for me to wear dresses, because I would have worn everything she made. I decided that Red’s more non-gendered looks would be a decent alternative for me.

            I was completely unsurprised to have the paparazzi focused on me during her show - I mean why would they not be, seeing as Wendy and I were evidently fashion's hottest couple? I hoped that maybe Kenny sitting next to me would throw the cameras off, but really, they were completely undependable.

            With another round of runway shows, my own included, out of the way, Kenny and I were able to pack back into our limousine with considerably less stress.

            Less anxiety? Maybe not. But less stress, yes.

            As much as they lie and make a farce out of everything, the paparazzi  _do_ make me nervous, and there really is no escaping them, so you kind of have to sit there and take what's coming. I still had to wait for the official response to my show, and, can't lie, I was  _still_  kind of paranoid about....the Kenny problem.

            Like I said, though, that's...that's just me, I think.

            But I didn't bring up any of the anxiety. It seemed like the logical option.

            "I'm proud of you," I said instead.

            Kenny turned his head to me.

            "...Yeah?"

            "Of course, yeah."

            "You're the one who  _made_  this," he said, gesturing across himself. He had gotten someone's glitter on his cheek and his eyes were still black with the makeup - his eyes shone like gems against coal.

            "Just take the compliment, Kenny."

            "...Thanks," he said finally. "I'm proud of me, too."

            We ended up back in our room with good feelings overall, albeit with aching muscles. We tumbled into bed early, and for as focused on clothing as the night had been, it did not take long at all for ours to come off.

            The way we kissed then was...different than before. Not bad different. Kind of perfectly wonderful different. It was soft and it was full of trust and lacked nerve. But it was sweet. It wasn't rushed or animalistic, but that meant that it wasn't confused, either.

            Unlike the first two times we had had sex, still unsure of each other and what  _we_  even were, this time was more relaxed. Like we  _wanted_  to learn each other. And I mean, we  _did._ It almost felt like a honeymoon kind of situation, with our show being over and the big job taken care of. It felt like we could slow down and relax.

            Rain had started tapping at the window outside. There's something special about city rain, I think. Being high up in a hotel makes it feel unreal, and you can hear the cars of New York splashing through puddles below on shining asphalt. Kenny turned on our electric fireplace for the first time since staying at the Ritz with a little remote beside the bed. Turns out my stripper is capable of being a romantic as well.

            I don't think I've ever had a moment like that. I mean feeling that warm and comfortable. Comfortable with myself  _and_  who I was with. I laughed when Kenny dared himself to count all of my freckles, because I knew it was impossible, but what I  _thought_  was even more impossible was the fact that I would ever find someone who would even want to try doing such a thing.

            So I let him try, long fingers skimming my abdomen.

            It was different because he held me - really held me - when all was said and done, and not because he felt obligated to. I think he would have held me then even if we  _hadn't_  had sex, which was a thing I wasn't completely sure of the first two times.

            It was different because when all was said and done, I was no longer thinking about any of my anxieties or paranoias, and it was a strange change of pace.

            The  _first_  time had been different than  _any_  time with any other man I had ever been with, but that was because he hadn't left, and because it was passionate, and because I felt desired for the first time I could remember.

             _This_  time felt different because I felt  _loved_.

             And you know what?

            I think I love him, too.

 


	9. 9

**Kenny POV**

               I woke up after what was arguably one of the best nights of my life. Better than our first time, even. I've had plenty of "first times," trust me. Plenty of one night stands with eager hands and animalistic instincts. They're a dime a dozen in my world, even with Craig as a partner.

            I've never had what I had last night.

            Ever.

            Aside from the fact that I actually  _felt_  something this time - like, something intimate and  _real_  - there were all the extra parts that made it special. The fire. The rain outside. The cuddling afterward. Because I'm definitely a cuddler, and no one ever seems to think that of me. It's kind of offensive, really. I’m cuddly as fuck. I’m a regular goddamn teddy bear.

            I woke up facing Craig, our limbs intertwined. I kind of appreciated that as well - anyone and everyone spoons. It takes something special to face each other afterward, in my opinion. Our fire had gone out, probably hours before we had woken up, but the smell casually lingered as a reminded that the night had been real.

            I loved it. I loved everything about it, and I knew that I would rather have a lifetime worth of more nights like that with Craig than a lifetime of wild nights with men whose names I didn't even know. Even if it meant hopping around from hotel to hotel with him, or giving up stripping to be in the model world forever, I was alright with that. Happy, even. I mean, damn, it's not like it's a bad gig, right? And if I keep this job up - if Craig  _wants_  me to keep this job up - I won't have to depend on him to spoil me. Not that  _that_  was a bad gig either…I’m all for the sugar daddy life. But if modeling gets me some real cash money, then we can be each _others_ sugar daddy. Two daddy’s in one relationship…new, but I think I can get on board.

            I actually wonder if Craig thinks I'm going to quit modeling for him once we get back to Los Angeles – or South Park, or…well, he has to take me back home, no? I think he's expecting me to cut and run. I mean, as far as the job is concerned. But if he ends up offering the job to me full time...how could I  _not_  take it?

            I admit, I was kind of taken aback when Craig sprung the model thing on me. Or rather, sprung it on Nicole and Heidi. But that's only because I was sure I was going to make a fool of myself. Clearly, it all worked out. And now that I know how to do it, why would I refuse?

            Cheap stripper or high-class model? I don't think the decision would be too hard for anybody.

            The biggest drawback, maybe, is being in the spotlight all the time, but hell, if I get to look  _this_  good for my job, I'm not complaining.

            As far as our relationship goes, I mean, things have changed, of course. Our relationship obviously isn't the same as it was when we met at the Passion Pit, or even when we first arrived in New York. If we were still pretend-dating and I was still  _just_  a hired escort, I'm sure we'd just go our separate ways back in California with three grand in my back pocket. But even me just becoming a model changed the dynamic of things.  _And_  we're in a legitimate relationship now.

            Whether or not Craig offers the job to me full time when we go back home, we're still going to be dating, and things are still going to be a little different.

            Who knows? Maybe he'll ask me to move in with him. I mean…well, fuck. I never thought this far. We’re dating. So maybe, yeah, at first he thought he’d drop me off back in South Park, but…well, surely he thinks I’ll be staying near him now, no? Long distance isn’t something to be fucking around with. It’s not like I’d hate moving away from South Park anyway. Craig did it with great results. I will happily trade in fucking Frosted Flakes for dinner in exchange for Kevin the Butler.

            After about twenty minutes of mostly mindless contemplation whilst studying the scattered dark freckles on Craig's sleeping face, he started to stir. I hadn't gotten up simply because we were too tangled up in each other and any movement of mine would have woken him.

            "Morning," I mumbled.

            "Mm-mornin'," he replied with a yawn. "Wh'time 's it?"

            "Almost 9:30." Without the alarm signaling us to get to another show or rehearsal, we were able to kind of sleep in for the first time that week.

            "When are you meeting Kyle and Butters?" Craig asked, stretching himself out. Regardless of how sweet our position had been, my foot and arm had been asleep when I woke up, and I was sure that he had a similar tingling situation going on.

            "11. But they're picking me up," I said, fumbling with my phone on the nightstand to confirm what I had read half asleep. "Yeah, 11. We're having  _brunch_."

            Brunch. I'm having brunch. I've never had brunch. I don't even think I knew what brunch was before this week, other than something your mother went to on Sundays after church. And I mean _other_ mothers. Not my mother.

            "Better get ready then," Craig said, prodding me with a foot under the covers. "We can have our final coffee in this hotel before you leave."

            I leaned over and kissed him. It somehow felt like we had been in that hotel forever, and not just a week. I kind of didn't want to leave. I wanted to spend years in this hotel, in New York, with our morning coffee and our little shower and the making love with the fireplace crackling, or having occasional rough sex after a long day in front of cameras. I had gotten comfortable, finally.

            Getting comfortable is dangerous for me, because every time I get comfortable, change starts to happen. And change scares me.

            I'm scared to see what's going to happen next.

            I'm scared to be in a relationship.

            I'm scared to go home.

**oOo**

            Dressed in what I felt was casual Hugo Boss, I made my way down to the street to meet Kyle and Butters. I almost felt bad leaving Craig all alone, but he assured me that he was going to meet Clyde and Token for lunch so they could spend time together for an afternoon that wasn't completely centered around fashion. Still, I had some idea as to what their conversations would center around.

            Kyle and Butters were picking me up in a standard taxi. For a moment, I felt like I was seriously downgrading after a week of moving around in limousines and first-class. In all honesty, though, it was really just reverting back to what I was most familiar with. I mean, damn, the taxi in the middle of New York traffic was still a hell of a lot more comfortable than standing up on the bus in the middle of rush hour.

            "Hey, guys," I greeted, ducking into the back seat.

            "Morning, Ken," Butters greeted, and Kyle raised a hand. It actually felt really nice to not have cameras or modeling coaches focused on me. Even as much as I love being around Craig, I was technically working every time we stepped out in public together. Being casual was something I had almost forgotten. At least, as casual as you can be lounging around in Hugo Boss with the assistants of Stan and Eric – people who don’t even _need_ last names in this industry. Still, I guess compared to what I  _have_ been doing, that's fairly fucking casual.

            "Wendy decided not to join us, then?" I teased.

            "Ha, as if. She's got her own agenda,” Kyle said.

            "I'm shocked that she was able to resist my presence," I flaunted, a hand to my chest. Kyle rolled his eyes and Butters giggled at me.

            "Uh, here is fine, thanks," the blonde alerted the driver, who nodded and pulled up the curb when he was able.

            "Want me to wait?"

            "No, I think we'll be a while. Thank you, though." They paid the cab fair and we headed out.

            We had ended up at some Manhattan Bistro that was, according to my friends, pretty fantastic and reasonably priced. Of course, _reasonably priced_  in this society could mean fucking anything, so I took it with a grain of salt - especially after learning that they knew the place from tagging along with their bosses. It looked pretty good, though, and all the cash in my wallet had come from Craig anyway, so it wasn't really like I was out anything.

            More or less, the place was like a fancier and better tasting, non-chain version of Panera Bread, and I ended up with a soufflé, a cup of French Onion soup, and baguette slice for about twenty bucks.

            We found a table outside to eat at and I felt somehow in touch with whatever distant French relations I might have – I don’t know, I think my mom’s maiden name was French…ish. We lacked an Eiffel Tower and a European atmosphere, but soft French music played from an overhead speaker and I felt like this was as good as any brunch I was ever going to have in my lifetime (because I have so much to compare it to).

            We chatted casually about the shows and they both complimented me again on my own performance, still thinking that I was merely new to the catwalk scene rather than the entire industry. For an instant, I actually considered telling them the truth about the depths I had come from, but decided against it at the last moment. My pride wanted me to do it, simply so I could get credit from at least one person other than Craig who knew my last occupation. What wisdom I had told me it was a terrible idea. It was one thing getting myself in trouble and earning a bad reputation. I mean, my reputation can't get much worse than what I started with. When it gets down to it, a stripper and an escort are on pretty level playing fields. I didn't want to do anything to damage Craig's reputation though, and one word from me about who I really was turned  _him_  into an instant liar.

            We were able to joke around as well, which was a welcome change of pace. Not that I hadn't been laughing a lot recently, because I felt like I had been, but because casual joking around food made me feel like I had real friends now - friends that weren't bosses or co-workers. Or boyfriends. If I learned anything from my week in New York, it's how lonely I had been. I had had no stable love life and no friends outside the strip club, and yes, I do realize how goddamn lame I sound.

            This was getting comfortable as well. Unfortunately for me, Kyle and Butters didn't live in Los Angeles, like Craig. As far as I knew, they were stationed in New York, along with Wendy, unless work sent them traveling. Going back to Los Angeles meant saying goodbye to them, too.

            And then, like he had read my mind, Butters took a sip of tea before asking me what I had been asking myself all morning.

            "So, are you ready to go back home?"

            By that point, how was I supposed to keep it in? I started spilling out just about everything that had shot through my mind since waking up staring at Craig's face that morning.

            "So you don't like change, basically?" Kyle concluded after I had pretty much let everything out. He shrugged like it was no big deal.

            "I mean, I guess?" I replied. I  _didn't_  like change, but it was  _more_ than that. A lot of people don't like change. Change causes anxiety in a lot of people.

            "You don't like change, but you're afraid of commitment," Butters determined.

            That was it. Bingo.

            But I wasn't going to say it.

            Luckily, I didn't have to. Blondie started analyzing me like we were in an office and I was laying on a couch. I'm not sure what role Kyle played in the scene rather than being a tea sipping, eye rolling observer. At the same time, though, he did seem pretty interested and impressed with Butters' shockingly accurate analysis. I decided to place him as the skeptical, shadowing psychology student.

            "I mean, you've gotten comfortable where you're at, of course, but you want it to stay just like this. You've found a happy medium, and even though it  _is_ just a medium, you don't want it to go any further, because then it has a chance to end or fall apart. Even though there's an equal chance that everything will end up even  _better_."

            "That's...kind of exactly it. Wow," I said. I mean, he hit it right on the head, even though I hadn't been able to connect those dots myself and put labels on them. I had discovered in just the past few days that this was how Butters’ mind worked, and his entry in Craig's binder kept making more and more sense to me. Of  _course_  Eric used his ideas. He would be an idiot not to do so.

            "Can I ask...something a little more personal, then?" Butters asked. I shrugged. I didn't see why he shouldn't be able to. He was doing a pretty good job so far.

            "What were your relationships like...before Craig? Because, I mean, I think you guys have a good thing going, and you both look really happy. I know for a fact I haven't seen Craig smile for real like that in God knows how long. But if you have commitment issues, even with a deal like that...I mean, is it always like this?"

            I shook my head. Of course it's not always like this. It's  _never_  like this. And by that, I don't mean it never reaches this point and levels off. I mean it's never even reached this point in the first place.

            "No," I was able to tell him honestly. "But that's only because I've never, like,  _had_  a real, honest, committed adult relationship in the first place. I was pressured into a high school girlfriend until I realized for sure after about two weeks that I wasn't into that. Other than that, I've had a lot of individual dates.  _Sometimes_  second dates. And a lot of one-night-stands. And it's not like I  _want_ that outcome, you know? It's just, that's how it usually works out, and that's what my partners usually expect out of me, and then they take off, and that's that. Is it ideal? Hell no. But it became a pattern, I guess. And sometimes the one-night-stands happen with a partner I've had before, and that's as solid of a relationship as I form."

            "I think the term for that is  _fuck buddies_ ," Kyle piped up.

            "Shut the fuck up," I said, but I guess he wasn’t wrong.

            " _So_ ," Butters continued, "Craig is the first  _real_  relationship you've had?"

            "I...I guess so?"

            That was actually kind of a crazy thought. Had I ever been called someone's boyfriend before? I guess I had  _thought_  about it before, but it was never an official thing. I mean, completely disregarding the poor sixteen year old girl I had to let off easy Sophomore year. Although, now that I think about it, it might not have been too easy. Tammy, if you’re reading this, _no_ , you did not cause me to _turn gay_. You just…made me realize I’m not that bi. Okay, I guess that doesn’t help, does it? Tammy, I hope you’re not reading this.

            "So then, you found a perfect spot for yourself. You've got a job,  _and_  a boyfriend. A  _good_  boyfriend. I mean, he  _is_  good, isn't he?"

            I nodded, of course he was.

            "Hey, you never told us how he was in bed," Kyle piped up. Damn, he was contributing nuggets of gold to this conversation.

            "He's fantastic and he's hung. Now please, Butters, continue."

            " _Hey_ , hey, I wanna go back to that topic for a second!" Kyle protested, but blushing Butters smiled and pushed his hand away so that I could go on. Somehow I had a feeling we _would_ be revisiting that, however.

            "So you've got a great job and boyfriend, and you've made friends and acquaintances, and you've found yourself a nice niche, and you don't want to lose it."

            Considering the fact that Butters  _didn't_ know about my true last occupation, his accuracy was astounding.

            "Exactly."

            "...Do you think you'd break it off and go back to your old lifestyle when you leave New York? Is it that extreme of a fear?"

            "I can't say I haven't thought about of it," I admit. "Of course, I don't want to lose Craig after this. I don't want to lose any of this. But what if it just...isn't the same when we go back? What if...I don't know. What if all of the romance of it is just because we're in New York? What if he just treats me like...another fling when we get back home? Wouldn't it be better to just break it off and let this all be a happy memory?"

            Butters started to open his mouth to cut me off and talk me though it, but Kyle beat him to it.

            "Okay, stop, just... _stop._ Too many fucking  _what if's_. What if this, what if that? What if a meteor hits and we all fucking die tomorrow, huh? What then? Then it won't matter and you won't have to worry about it. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo! We are in the goddamn  _fashion_ industry. We don't have  _time_  for ‘what if.’ You just  _do._  And it's pretty much always hit or miss, and if you miss, well, hey, you tried. But when you  _hit_ , it's fucking brilliant, and you can't decide not to go up to bat at all if you're afraid you're not going to get a hit. Shit, Kenny, I assumed you had a little more passion in you than that. From the sound of it, you've had a lot of misses, and  _this_ is your hit. Not Fashion Week, or us, or any of that shit, but Craig. Craig is your hit. And I mean, he brought you to all this in the first place, didn't he? I think he'd do it again, don't you? If you break this off, I can just tell you right now that you're never going to get another chance like this again. Like Heidi Klum says, one day you're in and the next day you're out, so don't fucking miss your chance to be  _in_ , because  _this_  is that chance. What if you break if off with Craig and you never meet anyone like him again? I think  _that's_ the  _what if_ you  _really_  need to think about, because I think it's the most probable. When I met you, I didn't take you for someone who was afraid. I mean, maybe you don't like change, whatever. Maybe commitment intimidates you, but damn, it's a life changing thing. It  _should_ intimidate you. If it  _doesn't_ scare you a little bit...it's not right."

            Butters shrugged and nodded. "He's right."

            I've had never met a person I've wanted to punch, hug, and punch again in such quick succession until I met Kyle Broflovski, but...Butters was right, and  _he_  was right. I was scared, but...if I  _wasn't_  scared, I didn't feel strongly enough. I wasn't thinking about ‘what if's’ when I kissed Craig for the first time, and that turned out pretty well.

            "If you want my last two cents," Butters added, "this is the first real relationship Craig's been in...in a long while. Even if you count his fabricated tabloid relationship with Wendy. I'd be willing to bet that he feels a little scared about going back home, too. Just...talk to him about it, yeah?"

            "Yeah."

            After that, we ordered another round of tea, and inevitably ended up back at the topic of Craig's skill in the bedroom, which, in all honestly, I was pretty glad to brag about.

**oOo**

            It took the entire ride back to the hotel for me to build up the courage to even tell Craig that I wanted to discuss  _the matter of us_  again, and I cannot believe I was even going to be discussing something like that for the second time in a week.

            However, when I turned the handle on our door, I was completely prepared to jump right into the conversation.

            Craig, apparently, was not.

            His head shot straight up at me with a pained look on his face, as though my opening the door had triggered a bullet to be shot straight through his heart.

            "A-are you alright, Craig?" I asked. Something was...not right. At all. He was holding his phone, which was lit up, and I was willing to bet that I wasn't going to like what was on the screen. He, obviously, did not. "H-how was your visit with Token and Clyde?"

            "Interesting," was Craig’s only response. He tossed the phone at me, and it was by reflex alone that I managed to catch it, fumbling with it softly. I looked at the screen.

            There was a photo of myself, backstage at Craig's show. My hand was on another model's shoulder as we tried to listen to Craig introducing the show on the catwalk.

            "Scroll through them. There are five."

            " _Oh fuck_ ," I muttered to myself, doing so. My hand on a model's shoulder, to me whispering to another, to me smiling at another, and then my hand on  _that_  one's shoulder.

            Did it mean anything? No.

            Did it look bad? Yes.

            Did Craig take these pictures? No.

            "Kenny, after the whole issue with Kyle and Butters, I decided to trust you. Especially since we weren't  _actually_  dating yet,  _and_  since you said it was to make me jealous. But you didn't seem to stop. And now this...I don't know what this means. I don't know what to make of this, but Token and Clyde took these, and if  _they_  see something, too, then I know it's not just me."

            "Clyde and Token took these? Son of a  _bitch_. It's  _nothing!_ "

            The problem was, it didn't  _look_  like nothing. My whole life, I've been paid to get close and friendly with men. I had no idea I had turned it this much into a habit. Or that this was what it looked like. And lo and behold, my mentors betrayed me. Not that I was doing anything  _wrong_.

            Intentionally at least.

            "Look, Kenny, it's one thing if this is just an issue between us. It could be worked out. But there are a lot more people involved. Clyde took these with his phone, but he's not the only one with a camera. You had cameras all over you guys back stage, and if you don't think this shit is going to end up in a tabloid somewhere, then you've got another think coming."

            I ran my hands up and across my face and through my hair.

            Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

            "I...God  _damn_. Craig, I swear to _God_ , this is nothing, I can explain it all-"

            "I don't want to hear that, Kenny! This...this is fucked up! It's all fucked up, okay? What do you think they're going to say about us?"

            "What does it  _matter?_  Didn't you just tell me that no one believes that shit? What about the articles on you and Wendy? It's all a big joke."

            "Because we all  _know_  Wendy. We all know  _me_. No one knows  _you_. After all, it was your own mentors who ratted you out. Wendy's a designer. I'm a designer. You're just my employee, and-"

            "Just your employee, huh?"

            "No, that's not what I meant-"

            "Right,  _it's not what it sounds like_ , right?"

            " _Kenny,_  no, you don't fucking understand!"

            "Right, because I'm  _just your employee_ , and all that's between us is a paycheck. Of course I wouldn't understand a  _relationship_  or  _feelings_."

            " _Kenny!_ "

            "I'm going for a walk," I said. "I'll be back in about an hour to pack up."

            I stepped out and shut the suit door behind me.

             _Fuck._

            Well. I guess the option of breaking it off before going back to LA never left the table. It's just, now it was going to leave a sour taste in my mouth.

            What if you fuck everything up before you get on the plane back home, Kenny? Huh? What then?

 


	10. 10

               The second the door slammed, I feel backwards onto the hotel bed.

            " _Shit_."

            I think that was probably absolutely the worst way to handle things. Like...how could I have done that any worse? Why, why,  _why_  did I have to do something like this?

            Oh. Right. Because this is how I always do things. Sorry, one week is too long for you to be in a good relationship, stop that right now Craig Tucker, it's time for you to screw it up.

            I was - I  _am_  - you know,  _upset_. But at Kenny? I mean, hardly. Do I believe that he was purposely and maliciously flirting around? Okay, well purposely  _maybe_ , but not to hurt me. And thinking back on it, he  _probably_  didn't even know that that's what he was doing. I mean, he's friends with the Kyle and Butters, and as much as it got to me, I know his messing around with them was...well,  _just_  messing around.

            And the pictures I got from Clyde and Token...to a stranger’s eyes, or paparazzo's eyes, or just eyes that are looking too fast, yeah, it looks like something's going on. But come on, even I know that a picture taken at a time it's not supposed to can make a lot of nothing look like a lot of something. Hell, a picture of Bebe running at the wrong angle could make her look fat. Shit's fucked.

             And Kenny was right. Didn't I  _just_  tell him about the tabloids getting everything wrong in the "me and Wendy" story?

            That's...that's not what I'm upset about.

            But I  _am_  upset.       

            And I used that as a quick fuel to blow up at Kenny and push him out.

            Because that's what I do.

            And it's not like I hate commitment or don't believe in it or anything. I don't even know if I'm  _scared_  of commitment, because I've been so open to the idea, honestly. But I panicked. And our last night together had been  _so. Fucking. Perfect._

I pulled out my phone and held it over my head as I remained lying on the bed. Since I didn't have much else to do before packing and flying out, I figured there was no harm. Plus, there was no point in running after Keny anyway. It seemed smartest to let him think things over and cool off, and he would have to return to the room before flying back home again anyway.

            I absent-mindedly scrolled through Twitter which was mostly filled with snapshots and recaps of Fashion Week, but I was in too much of a mood to favorite any of them (although I  _did_  retweet Red's).

            And then I scrolled by an overly excited tweet. Perez Hilton. Of course. Like, is there any way  _not_  to notice his tweets? They're always bright and it feels like they kind of scream at you, really. And as usual, his comment was just stupidly vague enough that I felt the strong impulse to click and read what the hell a  _Fashion Faux-Pas FIASCO!!!!_ was, because I can tell you now that it wasn't going to have anything to do with actual clothing.

            "Oh, God damn it."

            I was right. Nothing clothing related. Of course. Right there at the top, drawn all over with whatever obnoxious paint program Perez uses, were the pictures Kyle and Token showed me. The exact ones on my phone, for sure. And since I obviously did not supply them, they must have.

            Not gunna lie, that stung a bit. They  _had_ to know that I would see. Maybe they thought they were doing me a favor, and giving me more publicity. Maybe they just needed the extra cash, which I couldn't really imagine. Still, I was overall shocked by the fact that they would betray me. Never would have thought. Not that they did it to betray me, because that most likely wasn't the intention, but still.

            In a way, I was glad of it. I had something to focus my negative emotions on other than Kenny. It felt healthier. I just...I  _knew_  that I wasn't really upset with him, but then my word vomit comes out when I start to panic, and why,  _why_  is Perez Hilton posting about this? Doesn't he have some someone’s weight or personality to unjustifiably comment on, I mean, really.

            Not that that's good either, but damn, it must be a slow news day.

            I couldn't help but wonder about what Kenny was doing. Just blowing off steam I would think, but I couldn't imagine why he would even want to come back. I mean, he was going to have to, but I wasn't expecting him to anytime soon. And he sure as hell wasn't going to call Clyde or Token. Maybe he would go back and rant to the assisstants. I placed my bets on that one, even though they had just parted.

            I ran my fingers through my hair and ruffled it, dialing the number for Clyde's phone.

            Was this a wise decision, considering my current attitude towards them?

            Eh, probably not. But since when am I one to think confrontations and such through? I'm on a roll here, can't stop now.

            I huffed out a long sigh waiting for Clyde to pick up. It didn't take long at all, I mean, I had  _just_  been with him. Unfortunately for me, that meant that I didn't have much of a chance to plan out my epic rant. I was destined for more panicky word vomit most likely, and said the first thing that came to mind when I heard Clyde pick up, before he could even greet me.

            "Kenny stormed out."

            Oh. Huh. Wow. That was actually not a completely terrible choice of a first line. Go me. Way to keep the priorities and anger in order.

            "...What?"

            "Ken, Kenny, he, I don't know, he came back and we argued over the pictures and I said some dumb shit and he just stormed out of the room."

            "So he's upset with  _you_?"

            "Well, yeah! I said some kind of messed up stuff...I told him he was just an employee, which he obviously  _isn't_ , but it kind of came off...wrong."

            "...What do you mean  _just an employee_? How does that change anything in the pictures? We're just employees. Like, wouldn't the pictures send the same message even if he wasn't just your employee?"

            Shit. I forgot the part about where Clyde, and everyone else, don't know about how Kenny's first job with me wasn't modeling. Oops.

            "I just...I don't know, tabloids and the public don't know him as much. He's, you know, new. I can't imagine that anyone would know him as anything other than  _Craig's New Guy_ , you know? They're not going to blow it off because like, obviously my relationship with Wendy is not real, because everyone knows us and our sexualities, but there's no reason to question anything said about me and Kenny right now."

            "...Right."

            "Right!"

            "Seems like he's just using that as an excuse to storm out and not be held accountable for his actions."

            "Yeah, that's the other thing I was going to talk about," I trailed off, twirling a strand of hair that was getting long. I needed a haircut. "I don't think he actually...you know,  _did_  anything."

            "Man...Craig, you know T and I are just looking out for you, right? We don't want you to keep getting hurt and getting into these relationships that just fade into nothing."

            I rubbed at my neck. "Yeah...yeah, I know. And I do appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But...man, guys, this was  _good_. This is the best relationship I've been in...ever. I don't  _have_ relationships. And neither does Kenny. We're just getting used to each other. It's not even like we've been together for that long."

            I wasn't about to tell anyone that it was a much shorter relationship than they thought it was, but still, three days is already the longest real relationship I've had since high school. Does high school even count?"

            "Yeah...yeah, that's true," Clyde started. The guilt was rising in his voice.

            "I think it was good that I confronted Kenny about this. Even if I don't think he did anything wrong  _really_ , because let's face it, I have paranoia problems out the ass, it's good that he understands that what used to be mundane communications to him are now scrutinized by everyone and can end up somewhere like, oh, I don't know, Perez Hilton's website?"

            "Oh, fuck."

            "Yeah, you wanna tell me more about that?"

            "Um. Give me a sec."

            I waited, drumming my fingers against my leg. They were going to be remorseful, I knew they would be, and I also knew that they wouldn't do this to really spite Kenny or I...but I needed to be stern with them.

            "Okay, we're back. T's here. We're on speaker."

            "Hello, Token."

            "H-Hey, Craig."

            "Would you care to explain why the pictures that you two took are plastered on Perez Hilton's website with comments about how my models are man-whores and I can't hold down a proper relationship before it's even debuted?"

            "Oh my God," Token mumbled. "L-look, Craig, we were hired, okay?"

            "You were hired by  _Perez Hilton_?"

            "Unbelievable, right?" Clyde said.  "He was lingering around on Monday and found us and recognized us, I guessed, and asked if we could take pictures on the inside that he might be able to use. We took pictures of  _everything_ , and he was willing to pay for them all, even if he didn't use them. We expected him to use the ones of, you know, actual  _fashion_ , and...fuck."

            "We didn't think he'd use  _those_  out of everything we gave him," Token continued. "Like...Craig, we gave him  _so_  many. We just figured that if we had some with backstage stuff, he'd be more willing to take the lot."

            "We hadn't even seen them uploaded before you called," Clyde offered.

            I sighed deeply. Somehow that calmed me, but only slightly. I still felt betrayed. Even if they  _hadn't_  given the pictures to Perez, I probably still would have ended up upset with them. It was nice at first, I guess, just because I know they were trying to warn me, but after the phone call, it just really sounded like they were taking pictures of  _everything_  and it was just pure coincidence that they found one that looked slightly compromising.

            "Do you...do you guys really want me to get rid of Kenny that bad that you felt the need to show me pictures that just happened by pure coincidence?"

            They went silent on the other end, and for a minute, I thought that maybe we had gotten disconnected. I could hardly even hear them breathe.

            "W-we  _do_  like Kenny," Token finally said. "Like, really. He's cool, and funny...,"

            "But we don't know if he's right for  _you_ ," Clyde finished. I could almost hear Token nodding his agreement the way he often did when Clyde finished his sentences.

            "What would you two know about who is and isn't right for me?" I asked at a near whisper. More silence.  _Now_  I was hurt. They were trying to be good friends, but they had just confessed to trying to sabotage my relationship - a relationship that took off on strange and rocky terms as it was. So were they good friends for trying to mess this up for my sake? Or shitty friends for trying to sabotage the best thing that's happened to me in recent memory without my knowledge or consent? My mind decided to pick the latter for the time being. "I mean, I haven't even been able to figure out who's right or wrong for me. But I know for sure all those guys that left after a night weren't right, and Kenny made me really, really happy."

            "...We're sorry, Craig," Token offered weakly.

            "...Yeah." I felt kind of bad at first just rolling off an apology like that, but for something like this, I felt that I had a right to be angry with them for a little while.

            "Are we fired?" Clyde asked. I laughed.

            "Oh my God, no, you dumbass. I'm just...mad at you for now. And I need to find Ken. Make sure I didn't completely fuck this up royally. We still have a long flight together, and if I can make things good before we have to sit in silence together, that would be ideal."

            "If it would help, we can ask around for him?" Token offered.

            "Yeah...yeah, that would be great, thanks," I replied. Somehow I thought that if I texted either of the assistants, they wouldn't give up Kenny's position to me. Awkwardly loyal like that.

            "Just...text me if you find him," I said.

            "Least we can do," Clyde said guiltily. "Talk in a bit."

            I hung up before saying my own goodbye and started packing with a lot less excitement than I had when I was preparing to come to New York originally. My fingers were slow and sad, and I couldn't even pinpoint one specific reason. It was a combination of Kenny having left angrily, and Clyde and Token having betrayed my trust, and being my generally paranoid self, and Fashion Week being over, and my personal life all over Perez Hilton's trashy blog, and my own stupidity and word vomit...especially those last two.

            It wasn't until I had finished packing most of my personal clothes that my phone buzzed with a text.

             **From: Clyde** **  
**ken just finished meeting w/ Ky & Butters - hes headed back to your room now.****

I tapped out my quick thanks, and then send a smile emoji in a separate text, just so I sounded less harsh. Even if I  _was_  mad, I didn't want to gain a reputation like one of those monster designers that end up hated by their models. I mean, Clyde and Token are my closest friends, and losing them would only be the beginning of losing anyone I'm close to. Being apart from all my friends for such long periods of time and travelling so much is lonely enough as it is.

            I couldn't bring myself to keep packing much more. At that point, it just turned into a waiting game, sitting on the bed and anticipating Kenny walking in the door again. This was already the second time I was doing this - waiting for Kenny to come back from being with Kyle and Butters, phone in hand, anxiously needing to discuss something. Hopefully, this time would be better.

            It didn't take more than a few minutes for him to come in. My heart rate picked up speed when I heard his card key slide in the slot outside the door.

            He came in with his head slightly bowed, but his eyes were raised to mine, like a puppy scorned.

            "Kenny-"

            "Craig-"

            "Um, you first," I insisted. I thought, since I knew the full story, it would be best for him to voice all of his concerns in one shot.

            "I...I'm sorry, Craig."

            " _You're_ sorry?"

            "Let me finish, man, damn, I've been thinking of this stuff all day."

            "Ah! Um, yeah, right, okay, go ahead."

            "Yeah, so...," He ran hands through his hair, licked at his lip ring (you're forgiven, Kenny, for anything you want to apologize for), and messed up his hair again. He went through about every one of his nervous habits before starting up again. "So, I know I've been kind of...promiscuous? Is that even the appropriate word? I don't even fucking know, I never hear that word outside of that old Nelly Fertado song...I mean, anyway, I know I've been kind of, you know,  _familiar_  and flirty with some of the other guys I've met, but seriously, it means  _nothing_. To be honest, I hardly even realize I do it. It's just that, I do that for work, all night and day, and that kind of behavior is just how I know how to get guys - people - to like me. I have to talk like that to impress them, to get their attention...so even though I have this  _new_  job...it's hard to break out of that. Honestly, I'm still learning how to function around guys in a normal setting, let alone how to do it while in a...committed relationship."

            I sighed relief. "I...I know, Kenny. I just needed some time to think about that stuff."

            "And Craig, those backstage pictures? Literally  _nothing_. I take full responsibility for my actions with the assistants. Both when I was trying to make you jealous and otherwise. That's just how I've always been with friends, and I know I have to learn to tone it down, I totally understand that. But I didn't even get the chance to explain the backstage photos. I hardly even spoke to the other models, and we didn't even talk about anything that wasn't related to the show. It's just, it was loud back there and I kind of had to lean into them, and then later I heard that Clyde and Token had told them I was up for flirting, and they took the pictures, and I don't really understand why that happened."

            "...They  _told_  the models you were up for it?"   

            "Y-yeah, actually. I never got the chance to say that before I...you know, stormed out. Sorry about that, too."

            I shrugged, making a mental note to yell at Clyde and Token once more. "Your storming out was my fault any way. I shouldn't have said that you were just an employee."

            "Yeah, but I know exactly what you meant. I was just...frustrated, I guess, because I couldn't say anything, but  _fuck_ , it all turned out to be true, and now it's on fucking Perez Hilton's website, and bam, reputation's fucked up."

            "Ah, you saw it on there, then?"

            "...Yeah. Damn, I'm so fucking sorry, Craig. I just ran away from the whole issue when we could have avoided this conflict from the beginning. And that's what I was originally going to tell you when I came home from brunch. Normally, this, as in this relationship and job and lifestyle, would be exactly the kind of thing I would run away from. Because it's so perfect, but it's the opposite of what I'm used to and, I don't know, it's all kind of unfamiliar and uncomfortable...but I wanted to tell you that I don't  _want_ to run away. I want you, Craig. You're worth sticking around. You're worth having to learn to act differently around people, and you're worth the traveling, and learning to walk in heels, and you're worth sucking up my pride and coming to apologize, because I can tell you right now, I've never done anything like this in my life."

            "I - wow."

            His eyebrows shot up and his familiar Kenny attitude returned to his face.

            "Wow? That's all you have to say?"

            "Just...give me a moment."

            I plopped back onto the bed and he used the opportunity to come into the opening of the room more; he had never really inched his way in from the doorway.

            "Is this...too much?" Kenny asked.

            It wasn't. It was...It was exactly what I needed to hear, actually, because damn, regardless of our extremely different backgrounds, Kenny and I were nearly the same. I guess that was the South Park in us.

            Not that I went around flirting with assistants and stripping.

            See, this is why I needed a moment to settle down. All that stuff would have rambled out had I opened my mouth right away.

            "N-no, no, you're fine."

            "Just fine? Craig, what are you holding back? Did you..did you actually, you know...like me? Or was this all just convenient?"

            "What?! What, no, of course I like you. In fact, I might...you know...feel even stronger than that. It's just-"

            "Just what?!"           

             _Okay_ , he was getting exasperated. Oops. I, like,  _really_  have to work on when I do and don't saying things.

            "I  _do_ like you. I more than like you. I genuinely care about you and I want to be with you.  _So_  much. You're the best relationship I've had in so long. Ever, maybe, and it's only been a week. But you don't realize how much like you I am, Kenny. I'm paranoid...about everything, really. I get anxious easily. And that's not your fault. None of that has to do with you. It's how I've always been, and when you add that to not having been in a decent relationship in a while, or any at all for that matter, it scares me."

            Kenny's eyes narrowed, but in a way that was trying to understand me. And I think he was. He came and sat next to me on the bed which I considered to be a good thing. He wasn't backing away from me and heading towards the door at least.

            "But...I think it's okay," I continued. His features softened. "I think the fact that it scares me is...a good thing. It means I care. I'm scared of the future, because being with you means it's going to be different. I'm scared of  _losing_  you, which is where a lot of my paranoia picks up. I'm scared of the press. But being scared means things are  _happening_. I want things to happen. I want things to happen  _with you_ , and I want to be scared  _with you_. I just...I want to be with you, Kenny."

            He took my hands in his and stared at me. Just stared at me. Besides our perfect night together, he had never really felt more human to me. We had just completely exposed ourselves to each other emotionally, and it matched the time we did it physically.

            "I know what you mean," he said finally, at a near whisper. "I know that fear. But being apart from you in that short time that I was...I realized I was a hell of a lot more lonely and scared apart from you than with you. I remembered what it was like before I met you, which seems so long ago now, and I don't want to go back to that."

            I smiled at him, trying not to be a loser with tears in my eyes, but I couldn't do it. I understood what he meant far too well, and I don't think I've ever met anyone who's been able to pick up on and share my emotions as easily as he was able to.

            "So, uh...does this mean we're still boyfriends?"

            His eyes darted around my face before he smirked and pushed me lightly.

            "Fuck you, yeah, of course we're still boyfriends!"

            I admit, I might have let out an inhuman noise. "Good! Fuck the media!"

            "Fuck the press!"

            "Fuck Perez Hilton!"

            "Fuck your models!"

            "Yeah! But...not really, right?"

            He cocked an eyebrow before I winked at him.

            "Don't push your luck, loser," he laughed at me. I couldn't do anything then, but wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. Not my employee, not my escort, not a stripper, and not even my model. This was just me kissing him, my boyfriend Kenny, with the crass life and the neon tank top and the lip ring, who smirks at my expense and knows how I take my coffee and is scared just like I am.

 


	11. Epilogue

**Kenny POV**    

I felt the past few hours melt around us. They didn't disappear altogether, which I think Craig and I could both agree was a good thing. Our first "lover's spat" needed to be kept in our memories. So it just melted, and remained like candle wax around us while we kept burning like a little wick on fire.

            Wow, okay, that was really, like, gay as fuck.

            But no, seriously. We got good again, but we remembered what had just happened. I think, actually, that the little episode was imperative to our relationship. Craig and I had kind of...fallen together in a strange way. I was totally aware of that. Unorthodox relationship is kind of an understatement, but let's face it - I just stopped my job as a sex worker, so unorthodox is kind of my thing.

            The thing is, we didn't actually  _know_  each other well. Personality, yeah. And we totally had chemistry. And, well, I at least I know our  _bodies_ meshed well. But we needed to know that quirky relationship kind of stuff. Like, for example, if I had known how paranoid Craig was intrinsically, I might have been more careful.

            Although I  _am_ a fucking idiot and should have been more careful regardless.

            But then again, that's something that Craig didn't know about  _me_. Fucked up commitment issues and fucked up past relationships and, you know, just being...fucked up.

            But now we know. And we're learning I think, and it's good and it's healthy. Healthier. And sure as hell healthier than what we've both had in the past. Maybe to a couple who's been together for years, our fight was child's play. I mean, it was only a few hours,  _if_ that. But every couple is different, and this was our big one, and this is how we grew and began to understand each other. That's just how it is. And it's good.

            We laid there for some time, almost as if we were rekindling our previous night. I smiled in spite of myself and the "cool" demeanor I had invented for myself while I was here. Craig had melted that away with his flame as well.

            How long we stayed there, I'm not sure, just kind of reveling in each other. It felt like hours.

            Actually, it was probably just a minute or two.

            Mood killer, I suppose, but we did have a flight to catch.

            "Come on," Craig whispered to me. I could smell coffee on him this close. "Let's finish packing."

            We were out of the Ritz almost as soon as I felt like we had arrived there. With a slight twinge in my stomach, I felt that I was going to miss our dumb shower that we had eventually started to use together, and the dumb loveseat that I eventually started not to use at all, and the fireplace that only got lit for one single night.

            And the coffee maker. I was definitely going to miss the coffee maker.

            I was going to miss the domesticity of it. I guess I just still wasn't sure what was going to happen when we got back to L.A.  I just knew that if I never got to make Craig's plain as shit coffee for him ever again, I would be very upset.

            "You happy to be headed home?" Craig asked, his hand squeezing mine as our plane took off. I took notice of how the freckles on his knuckles stood out even as his skin turned whiter when he held my hand.

            I pressed my lips together and nodded.

            "I'm going to miss wrestling for blankets with you, though."

            He laughed. "No one ever said we had to stop wrestling over blankets, Ken."

            I turned to him, eyebrows raised. "You...mean it?"

            He looked at me in disbelief. "Well,  _yeah_. What did you think was going to happen? You thought we were going back to how we were before we went to New York? You want me to ship you back to South Park? I mean, yeah, we’ll have to go back to get some of your stuff, and I go to visit the family now and then…And, I mean, even if you don't want to share a bed, you're totally welcome to sleep in the guest bed again..."

            "Oh! I mean...I just assumed...I mean, I didn't know..."

            "God, Kenny, you can be difficult sometimes. I wasn't going to make you go back to your old gig! I mean, not if you don't want it. And if you live with me, it's going to be  _so_  much more convenient to fit you for new clothes."

            I nearly choked on my complimentary water before kissing him full on, just as we were somewhere over Virginia.

**oOo**

**3 months later**

            Craig brushed the dust from my new coat's shoulders, adding and removing last minute pins before our first fashion show together in Los Angeles. Clyde and Token were backstage as well, and fiddled with their ensembles. Upon seeing us both, they apologized profusely for all of the past trouble they had caused, but Craig begged them to stop. We both knew that the problem was behind us, but honestly, I think Craig just wanted Token to stop sweating profusely all over his new designs.

            "You ready?"

            "Baby, I was born ready," I winked, shaking my hips jokingly.

            "You ever miss it?"

            "Miss what?"

            "You know, the stripping thing. Because if you ever have an itch to go back, I can set up a job for you at this really exclusive place I know," he smiled. I think he was a bit serious.

            "Nah, my stripping days are over. Except for, you know, private shows," I winked, and basked in how red it made him. "I do kinda miss that thing where you would take me to Rodeo and dress me, though."

            "You loser, you have the money to do that on your own now."

            "Yeah, I know," I whined, "but it defeats the fun of having a sugar daddy."

            "I am not-"

            "Craig."

            "Fine. I'm a sugar daddy. But that doesn't mean you can't afford your own shopping sprees now and then."

            I shrugged. "Gotta go. Kind of have a runway show and all. I have to model my freckly gay boyfriend's clothes. You know, because he thinks I'm hot and stuff."

            Craig laughed and squeezed my hand the way I liked. "I love you, Kenny."

            I licked at my lip ring - aware of it this time - and replied.

            "I love you, too, Mr. Tucker."

 


End file.
